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BILL     NYB 


AND 


BOOMERANG; 


OR 


THE  TALE  OF  A  MEEK-EYED  MULE, 


AND  SOME  OTHER  LITERARY  GEMS. 


BY   BILL   NYE   HIMSELF. 


"And  now,  kind  friends,  what  I  have  wrote 
I  hope  you  will  pass  o'er, 
And  not  criticise  as  some  has  done, 
Hitherto,  herebefore." 

— Sweet  Singer  of  Michigan. 


CHICAGO,  NEW  YORK  AND  SAN  FRANCISCO: 
BELFOED,  CLARKE  &  CO. 


COPYRIGHT 
1883. 

By  Belford,  Clarke  &  Go. 


4^    EDITED   BY" 

DoiiFiall 


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Pft« 


TO  MY  MULE  BOOMERANG, 

Whose  bright  smile  haunts  me  still,  and  whose  low,  mellow  notes 
are  ever  sounding  in  my  ears,  to  whom  I  owe  all  that  I  am  as  a  great 
man,  and  whose  presence  has  inspired  me  ever  and  anon  throughout 
the  years  that  are  gone, 

THIS    VOLUME, 

this  coronet  of  sparkling  literary  gems  as  it  were,  this  wreath  of  fra- 
grant forget-me-nots  and  meek-eyed  johnny-jump-ups,  with  all  its 
wealth  of  rare  tropical  blossoms  and  high-priced  exotics,  is  cheerfully 
and  even  hilariously  dedicated 

By  the  Author. 


M 15784 


THE   APOLOGY. 


(  In  my  Boudoir, 
\     Nov.  17,  1880. 

Belford,  Clarke  &  Co. : 

Gentlemen :— In  reply  to  your  favor  of  the  22d  ult,  I  herewith 

transmit  the  material  necessary  for  a  medium  size  volume  of  my 

chaste  and  unique  writings. 

The  matter  has  been  arranged  rather  hurriedly,  and  no  doubt  in 
classifying  this  rectangular  mass  of  soul,  I  have  selected  some  little 
epics  and  ethereal  flights  of  fancy  which  are  not  as  good  as  others  that 
I  have  left  out,  but  my  only  excuse  is  this :  the  literary  world  has  been 
compelled  to  yield  up  first  one  well  known  historical  or  scientific 
work  and  then  another,  careful  investigation  having  shown  that  they 
were  unreliable.  This  left  suffering  humanity  almost  destitute  of  a 
reliable  work  to  which  it  could  turn  in  its  hour  of  great  need. 

So  I  have  been  compelled  to  hurry  more  than  I  wanted  to. 

It  affords  me  great  pleasure,  however,  to  know  what  a  feeling 
of  blessed  rest  and  childlike  confidence  and  assurance — and  some 
more  things  of  that  nature — will  follow  the  publication  of  this  work. 

Print  the  book  in  large  coarse  type,  so  that  the  old  people  can  get  a 
chance  at  it.     It  will  reconcile  them  to  death,  perhaps. 

Then  sell  it  at  a  moderate  price.  It  is  really  priceless  in  value,  but 
put  it  within  the  reach  of  all,  and  then  turn  it  loose  without  a  word 
of  warning.  The  Author. 

Laramie  City,  Wyoming. 


CONTENTS. 


Page. 

To  My  Mule  Boomerang ■ 

The  Apology ' 

Apostrophe  to  an  Orphan  Mule 

A  Miners'  Meeting— My  Mine- A  Mirage  on  the  Plains 9 

The  True  Story  of  Damon  and  Pythias *3 

Sad  Memories  of  the  Dead  Year !7 

Letters  from  Paris 

2S 
Prehistoric  Crockery ..» 

Suggestions  for  a  School  of  Journalism. • 31 

The  Fragrant  Mormon *5 

Recollections  of  the  Opera 3 

A  Sunny  Little  Incident 39 

He  Rewarded  Her 41 

The  Modern  Parlor  Stove 41 

Remarks  to  Originators 43 

Queer 45 

Sic  Semper  Gloria  Houseplant 45 

How  to  Tel  1 , & 

Biooraphv  of  Colorow - 

Diary  of  a  Saucy  Young  Thing = ^° 

Killing  oft  the  James  Boys 49 

A  Relic S° 

Some  Reasons  why  I  can't  be  an  Indian  Agent 51 

The  Picnic  Snoozer's  Lament 54 

Bill  Nye  and  Boomerang  in  the  Gold  Mines •  55 

Two  Great  Men •  •  •  • 59 

Dirty  Murphy ^ 

A  Rocky  Mountain  Sunset 

The  Temperature  of  the  Bumble-bee 63 

Drawbacks  of  Public  Lift » •  •  •  * ** 


iv  Contents, 

The  Glad,  Fre$  Life  of  the  Miner 65 

Some  Thoughts  of  Childhood . .. 6S 

The  New  Adjustable  Campaign  Song 7° 

Sitting  down  on  a  Venerable  Joke 73 

A  Hairbreadth  Escape 74 

Myself,  Dr.  Talmage  and  Other  Divines 76 

Fine-cut  as  a  Means  or  Grace 79 

The  Weather  and  Some  Other  Things     Si 

The  Parable  of  the  Unjust  Steward S4 

Ode  to  Spring 87 

The  Parable  of  the  Prodigal  Son S7 

The  Indian  and  the  Everlasting  Gospel 90 

The  Muse 94 

Shoeing  a  Broncho 101 

Pumpkin  Jim ;  or  the  Tale  of  a  Busted  Jackass  Rabbit 104. 

William  Nye  and  the  Heathen  Chinee 112 

Hong  Lee's  Grand  Benefit  at  Lead  ville 115 

You  Fou 117 

The  Lop-eared  Lovers  of  the  Little  Laramie 1  iS 

Speech  of  Spartacus 126 

Correspondence  131 

He  Went  Out  West  for  His  Health 137 

A  Quiet  Little  Wedding  without  any  Frills 140 

Thoughts  on  Spring 144 

The  Same  Old  Thing 145 

The  Veteran  who  died  while  getting  his  Pension 149 

Gingerbread  Poems  and  Cold  Pickled  Facts 152 

Origin  of  Beautiful  Snow 155 

Ule  Eloquence 159 

The  Aged  Indian's  Lament 161 

How  a  Mining  Stampede  breaks  out 163 

The  Great  Rocky  Mountain  Re-union  of  Yaller  Dogs 165 

What  Woman  Suffrage  has  done  for  Wyoming 167 

Portuguese  without  a  Master 170 

The  Rocky  Mountain  Hog 173 

The  Buckncss  wherewith  the  Buck  Beer  Bucketh 175 

Billious  Nye  and  the  Amateur  Stage 176 

A  Journalistic  Correction 178 

Bankrupt  Sale  of  Literary  Gems 179 

Thoughts  on  Marriage 180 

A  Ute  Presidential  Convention 183 

The  Club-footed  Lover  of  Piute  Pass 190 

The  Automatic  Liar 194 

Some  Post-office  Fiends 196 

Agriculture  at  an  altitude  of  7,500  feet. ,......, 199 


CoJitents.  V 

The  Gentle  Youth  from  Leadville ••  201 

A  Snide  Journalist 2°3 

Thoughts  of  the  Mellow  Previously 209 

He  Was  Blind 206 

My  Tombstone  Mine 2I  l 

Bankrupt  Sale  of  a  Circus 2I4 

Greeley  versus  Valley  Tan  218 

The  Eternal  Fitness  of  Things 2*8 

They  Unanimously  Arose  and  Hung-  Him 220 

Rhetoric  versus  Woodtick -••   ••   222 

The  Model  Wife 226 

Some  Overland  Tourists.  229 

Catching  Mountain  Trout  at  an  Elevation  of  8,000  feet 233 

Home-made  Indian  Relics 235 

The  Previous  Reporter 239 

The  Peace  Commission 24I 

Some  Answers  to  Correspondents 244 

The  Crow  Indian  and  His  Caws 247 

The  Nuptials  of  Dangerous  Davis 250 

The  Holiday  Hog 252 

Some  Census  Conundrums 253 

The  Gentle  Power  of  a  Woman's  Influence 255 

The  Native  Inborn  Shiftlessness  of  the  Prairie  Dogs 257 

Answers  to  Correspondents •  258 

The  Secret  of  Garfield's  Election 263 

Perils  of  the  Butternut  Picker 265 

A  Word  or  Two  about  the  Swallow 269 

Laughing  Sam ( 271 

The  Calamity  Jane  Consolidated 273 

The  Nocturnal  Cow ...... 274. 

The  Relentcss  Garden  Hose , 277 

A  Wail 278 

The  Great,  Horrid  Man  Receiveth  New  Year  Calls 279 

JusttheThing 280 

Thanks 281 

An  Anti-Mormon  Town 283 

A  Christmas  Ride  in  July 283 

Examining  the  Brand  on  a  Frozen  Steer 2S4 

Onion  Peelin's ,,.,..., ,1........ • • 2S5 


APOSTROPHE  TO  AN  ORPHAN  MULE. 


Oh!  lonely,  gentle,  unobtrusive  mule! 
Thou  standest  idly  'gainst  the  azure  sky, 
And  sweetly,  sadly  singeth  like  a  hired  man. 

Who  taught  thee  thus  to  warble 
In  the  noontide  heat  and  wrestle  with 
Thy  deep,  corroding  grief  and  joyless  woe? 
Who  taught  thy  simple  heart 

Its  pent-up,  wildly-warring  waste 
Of  wanton  woe  to  carol  forth  upon 
The  silent  air? 
I  chide  thee  not,  because  thy 
Song  is  fraught  with  grief-embittered 
Monotone  and  joyless  minor  chords 
Of  wild,  imported  melody,  for  thou 
Art  restless,  woe  begirt  and 
Compassed  round  about  with  gloom, 

Thou  timid,  trusting,  orphan  mule! 
Few  joys  indeed,  are  thine, 
Thou  thrice-bestricken,  madly- 
Mournful,  melancholy  mule. 
And  he  alone  who  strews 
Thy  pathway  with  his  cold  remains 
Can  give  thee  recompense 

Of  lemoncholy  woe. 
He  who  hath  sought  to  steer 
Thy  limber,  yielding  tail 
Ferninst  thy  crupper-band 

Hath  given  thee  joy,  and  he  alone. 


8  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

'Tip  true,  he  may  hnve  shot 
Athwart  the  Zodiac,  and,  looking 
O'er  the  outer  walk  upon 

The  New  Jerusalem, 
Have  uttered  vain  regrets. 
Thou  reckest  not,  O  orphan  mule, 
For  it  hath  given  thee  joy,  and 
Bound  about  thy  bursting  heart, 
And  held  thy  tottering  reason 

To  its  throne. 
Sing  on,  O  mule,  and  warble 
In  the  twilight  gray, 
Unchidden  by  the  heartless  throng. 
Sing  of  thy  parents  on  thy  father's  side. 
Yearn  for  the  days  now  past  and  gone; 
For  he  who  pens  these  halting, 
Limping  lines  to  thee 
Doth  bid  thee  yearn,  and  yearn,  and  yearn. 


A    MINERS'    MEETING— MY    MINE— A   MIRAGE    ON 

THE  PLAINS. 

Camp  on  the  New  Jerusalem  Mine,  May  28,  1880. 

I  write  this  letter  in  great  haste,  as  I  have  just  returned 
from  the  new  carbonate  discoveries,  and  haven't  any  sur- 
plus time  left. 

While  I  was  there  a  driving  snow  storm  raged  on  the 
mountains,  and  slowly  melting  made  the  yellow  ochre  into 
tough  plastic  clay  which  adhered  to  my  boots  to  such  an 
extent  that  before  I  knew  it  my  delicately  arched  feet  were 
as  large  as  a  bale  of  hay  with  about  the  same  symmetrical 
outlines. 

A  miners'  meeting  was  held  there  Wednesday  evening, 
and  a  district  to  be  called  Mill  Creek  District,  was  formed, 
being  fifteen  miles  each  way.  The  Nellis  cabin  or  ranch  is 
situated  in  the  center  of  the  district. 

I  presided  over  the  meeting  to  give  it  an  air  of  terror  and 
gloom.  It  was  very  impressive.  There  was  hardly  a  dry 
eye  in  the  house  as  I  was  led  to  the  chair  by  two  old  miners. 
I  seated  myself  behind  the  flour  barrel,  and  pounding  on  the 
head  of  the  barrel  with  a  pick  handle,  I  called  the  august 
assemblage  to  order. 

Snuffing  the  candle  with  my  fingers  in  a  graceful  and 
pleasing  style,  and  wiping  the  black  off  on  my  pants,  I  said : 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  Convention :  In  your  selection  of  a 
chairman  I  detect  at  once  your  mental  acumen  and  intelli» 

9 


IO  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

gent  foresight.  While  you  feel  confident  that,  in  the  rose- 
colored  future,  prosperity  is  in  store  for  you,  you  still  re- 
member that  now  you  look  to  capital  for  the  immediate  de- 
velopment of  your  district. 

"  I  am  free  to  state  that,  although  I  have  been  but  a  few 
hours  in  your  locality,  I  am  highly  gratified  with  your  ap- 
pearance, and  I  cheerfully  assure  you  that  the  coffers  which 
I  command  are  at  your  disposal.  In  me  you  behold  a  capi- 
talist who  proposes  to  develop  the  country,  regardless  of  ex- 
pense. 

"  I  also  recognize  your  good  sense  in  selecting  an  old 
miner  and  mineral  expert  to  preside  over  your  meeting. 
Although  it  may  require  something  of  a  mental  strain  for 
your  chairman  to  detect  the  difference  between  porphyry 
and  perdition,  yet  in  the  actual  practical  workings  of  a  min- 
ing camp  he  feels  that  he  is  equal  to  any  emergency. 

"  After  the  band  plays  something  soothing  and  the  chaplain 
has  drawn  up  a  short  petition  to  the  throne  of  grace,  I  shall 
be  glad  to  know  the  pleasure  of  the  meeting." 

Round  after  round  of  applause  greeted  this  little  gem  of 
oratory.  A  small  boy  gathered  up  the  bouquets  and  filed 
them  with  the  secretary,  when  the  meeting  proceeded  with 
its  work.  Most  of  trhe  delegates  came  instructed,  and  there- 
fore the  business  was  soon  transacted. 

I  located  a  claim  called  the  Boomerang.  I  named  it  after 
my  favorite  mule.  I  call  my  mule  Boomerang  because  he 
has  such  an  eccentric  orbit  and  no  one  can  tell  just  when  he 
will  clash  with  some  other  heavenly  body. 

He  has  a  siszh  like  the  long-  drawn  breath  of  a  fosr-horn. 
He  likes  to  come  to  my  tent  in  the  morning  about  daylight 
and  sigh  in  my  ear  before  I  am  awake.  He  is  a  highly 
amusing-  little  cuss,  and  it  tickles  him  a  good  deal  to  pour 


BILL    NYE    .VXD    BOOMERANG.  II 

about  13^  gallons   of  his  melody  into  my  ear  while  I  am 

dreaming,  sweetly  dreaming.  lie  enjoys  my  look  of  pleas- 
ant surprise  when  I  wake  up. 

He  would  cheerfully  pour  more  than  13^  gallons  of  sigh 
into  my  ear,  but  that  is  all  my  ear  will  hold.  There  is 
nothing  small  about  Boomerang.  He  is  generous  to  a  fault 
and  lavishes  his  low,  sad,  tremulous  wail  on  every  one  who 
has  time  to  listen  to  it. 

Those  who  have  never  been  wakened  from  a  sweet, 
sweet  dream  by  the  low  sad  wail  of  a  narrow-gauge  mule, 
so  close  to  the  ear  that  the  warm  breath  of'the  songster  can 
be  felt  on  the  cheek,  do  not  know  what  it  is  to  be  loved  by 
a  patient,  faithful,  dumb  animal. 

The  first  time  he  rendered  this  voluntary  for  my  benefit, 
I  rose  in  my  wrath  and  some  other  clothes,  and  went  out 
and  shot  him.  I  discharged  every  chamber  of  my  revolver 
into  his  carcass,  and  went  back  to  bed  to  wait  till  it  grot  lighter. 
In  a  couple  of  hours  I  arose  and  went  out  to  bury  Boome- 
rang. The  remains  were  off  about  twenty  yards  eating 
bunch  grass.  In  the  gloom  and  uncertainty  of  night,  I  had 
shot  six  shots  into  an  old  windlass  near  a  deserted  shaft. 

Boomerang  and  I  get  along  first -rate  together.  When  I 
am  lonesome  I  shoot  at  him,  and  when  he  is  lonesome  he 
comes  up  and  lays  his  head  across  my  shoulder,  and  looks 
at  me  with  great  soulful  eyes  and  sings  to  me. 

On  our  way  in  from  the  mines  we  saw  one  of  those  beauti- 
ful sights  so  common  in  this  high  altitude  and  clear  atmos- 
phere.    It  was  a  mirage. 

In  the  party  were  a  lawyer,  a  United  States  official,  a 
banker  and  myself.  The  other  three  members  of  the  quar- 
tet, aside  from  myself  are  very  modest  men  and  do  not  wish 
to  have  their  names  mentioned.     They  were  very  particular 


12  B/LL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

about  it  and  I  have  respected  their  wishes.  Whatever 
Messrs.  Blake,  Snow  or  Ivinson  ask  me  to  do  I  will  always 
do  cheerfully. 

But  we  were  speaking  about  the  mirage.  Across  to  the 
northeast  our  attention  was  at  first  attracted  by  a  rank  of 
gray  towers  growing  taller  and  taller  till  their  heads  were 
lifted  into  the  sky  above,  while  at  their  feet  there  soon  ap- 
peared a  glassy  lake  in  which  was  reflected  the  outlines  of 
the  massive  gray  walls  above.  It  was  a  beautiful  sight. 
The  picture  was  as  still  and  lovely  to  look  upon  as  a  school 
ma'am.  We  all  went  into  raptures.  It  looked  like  some 
beautiful  scene  in  Palestine.  At  least  Snow  said  so,  and  he 
has  read  a  book  about  Palestine,  and  ought  to  know. 

There  was  a  silence  in  the  air  which  seemed  to  indicate 
the  deserted  sepulchre  of  other  days,  and  the  grim  ruins 
towering  above  the  depths  of  clear  waters  on  whose  surface 
was  mirrored  the  visage  of  the  rocks  and  towers  on  their 
banks,  all  spoke  of  repose  and  decay  and  the  silent,  stately 
tread  of  relentless  years. 

By  and  by,  from  out  the  grey  background  of  the  picture, 
there  stole  the  wild,  tremulous,  heart-broken  wail  of  a  mule. 

It  seemed  to  jar  upon  the  surroundings  and  clash  harshly 
against  our  sensitive  natures.  Some  one  of  the  party  swore 
a  little.  Then  another  one  came  to  the  front,  and  took  the 
job  off  his  hands.  We  all  joined,  in  a  gentlemanly  kind  of 
way,  in  condemning  the  mule  for  his  lack  of  tact,  to  say  the 
least. 

All  at  once  the  line  of  magnificent  ruins  shortened  and 
became  reduced  in  height.  They  changed  their  positions 
and  moved  off  to  the  left,  and  our  dream  had  melted  into 
the  matter  of  fact  scene  of  twenty-two  immigrant  wagons 
drawn  by  rat-tail  mules  and  driven  by  long-haired  Mormons, 


BILL    NYE    AXD    BOOMERANG.  1 3 

with  the  dirt  and  bacon  rinds  of  prehistoric  times  adhering 
to  them  everywhere. 

What  a  vale  of  tears  this  is  anyway ! 

We  are  only  marching  toward  the  tomb,  after  all.  We 
should  learn  a  valuable  lesson  from  this,  and  never  tell  a  lie. 


THE  TRUE  STORY  OF  DAMON  AND  PYTHIAS. 

CHAPTER  I. 

The  romantic  story  of  Damon  and  Pythias,  which  has 
been  celebrated  in  verse  and  song,  for  over  two  thousand 
years,  is  supposed  to  have  originated  during  the  reign  of 
Dionysius  L,  or  Dionysius  the  Elder  as  he  was  also  called, 
who  resigned  about  350  years  B.C.  He  must  have  been 
called  "  The  Elder,"  more  for  a  joke  than  anything  else,  as 
he  was  by  inclination  a  Unitarian,  although  he  was  never  a 
member  of  any  church  whatever,  and  was  in  fact  the  wick- 
edest man  in  all  Syracuse. 

Dionysius  arose  to  the  throne  from  the  ranks,  and  used  to 
call  himself  a  self-made  man.  He  was  tyrannical,  severe  and 
selfish,  as  all  self-made  men  are.  Self-made  men  are  very 
prone  to  usurp  the  prerogative  of  the  Almighty  and  over- 
work themselves.  They  are  not  satisfied  with  the  position 
of  division  superintendent  of  creation,  but  they  want  to  be 
most  worthy  high  grand  muck-a-muck  of  the  entire  rancn, 
or  their  lives  are  gloomy  fizzles. 

Dionysius  was  indeed  so  odious  and  so  overbearing  toward 
his  subjects  that  he  lived  in  constant  fear  of  assassination  at 
their  hands.  This  fear  robbed  him  of  his  rest  and  rendered 
life  a  dreary  waste  to  the  tyrannical  king.  He  lived  in  con- 
stant dread  that  each  previous  moment  would  be  followed 


V4  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

by  the  succeeding  one.  He  would  eat  a  hearty  supper  and 
retire  to  rest,  but  the  night  would  be  cursed  with  horrid 
dreams  of  the  Scythians  and  White  River  Utes  peeling  off 
his  epidermis  and  throwing  him  into  a  boiling  cauldron  with 
red  pepper  and  other  counter-irritants,  while  they  danced 
the  Highland  fling  around  this  royal  barbecue. 

Even  his  own  wife  and  children  were  forbidden  to  enter 
his  presence  for  fear  that  they  would  put  "  barn  arsenic  "  in 
the  blanc- mange,  or  "  Cosgrove  arsenic  "  in  the  pancakes,  or 
Paris  green  in  the  pie. 

During  his  rei^n  he  had  constructed  an  immense  subter- 
ranean  cavernous  arrangement  called  the  Ear  of  Dionysius, 
because  it  resembled  in  shape  and  general  telephonic  power, 
the  human  ear.  It  was  the  largest  ear  on  record.  One  day 
a  workman  expressed  the  desire  to  erect  a  similar  ear  of  tin 
or  galvanized  iron  on  old  Di.  himself.  Some  one  "  blowed 
on  him,"  and  the  next  morning  his  head  was  thumping 
about  in  the  waste  paper  basket  at  the  General  Office. 
When  one  of  the  king's  subjects,  who  thought  he  was  solid 
with  the  administration,  would  say :  "  Beyond  the  possibility  of 
a  doubt,  your  Most  Serene  Highness  is  the  kind  and  loving 
guardian  of  his  people,  and  the  idol  of  his  subjects,"  His 
Royal  Tallness  would  say,  "  What  ye  givin'  us  ?  Do  you 
wish  to  play  the  Most  Sublime  Overseer  of  the  Universe 
and  General  Ticket  Agent  Plenipotentiary  for  a  China- 
man? Ha!!!  You  cannot  fill  up  the  King  of  Syracuse  with 
taffy."  Then  he  would  order  the  chief  executioner  to  run 
the  man  through  the  royal  sausage  grinder,  and  throw  him 
into  the  Mediterranean.  In  this  way  the  sausage  grinder 
was  kept  running  night  and  day,  and  the  chief  engineer 
who  run  the  machine  made  double  time  everv  month. 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  ICJ 

CHAPTER  II. 

I  will  now  bring  in  Damon  and  Pythias. 

Damon  and  Pythias  were  named  after  a  popular  secret 
organization  because  they  were  so  solid  on  each  other. 
They  thought  more  of  one  another  than  anybody.  They 
borrowed_chewing  tobacco,  and  were  always  sociable  and 
pleasant.  They  slept  together,  and  unitedly  "  stood  off" 
the  landlady  from  month  to  month  in  the  most  cheerful  and 
harmonious  manner.  If  Pythias  snored  in  the  night  like 
the  blast  of  a  fog  horn,  Damon  did  not  get  mad  and  kick 
him  in  the  stomach  as  some  would.  He  gently  but  firmly 
took  him  by  the  nose  and  lifted  him  up  and  down  to  the 
merry  rythm  of  "  The  Babies  in  Our  Block." 

They  loved  one  another  in  season  and  out  of  season. 
Their  affection  was  like  the  soft  bloom  on  the  nose  of  a 
Wyoming  legislator.  It  never  grew  pale  or  wilted.  It 
was  always  there.  If  Damon  were  at  the  bat,  Pythias  was 
on  deck.  If  Damon  went  to  a  church  fair  and  invited  star- 
vation, Pythias  would  go,  too,  and  vote  on  the  handsomest 
baby  till  the  First  National  Bank  of  Syracuse  would  refuse 
to  honor  his  checks. 

But  one  day  Damon  got  too  much  budge  and  told  the 
venerable  and  colossal  old  royal  bummer  of  Syracuse  what 
he  thought  of  him.  Then  Dionysius  told  the  chief  engineer  of 
the  sausage  grinder  to  turn  on  steam  and  prepare  for  business. 
But  Damon  thought  of  Pythias,  and  how  Pythias  hadn't  so^ 
much  to  live  for  as  he  had,  and  he  made  a  compromise  by 
offering  to  put  Pythias  in  soak  while  the  only  genuine 
Damon  went  to  see  his  girl,  who  lived  at  Albany-  Three 
days  were  given  him  to  get  around  and  redeem  Pythias, 
and  if  he  failed  his  friend  would  go  to  protest. 


\6 


BILL   NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 


CHAPTER  IU. 

We  will  now  suppose  three  days  to  have  elapsed  since 
the  preceding  chapter.  A  large  party  of  enthusiastic 
citizens  of  Syracuse  are  gathered  around  the  grand  stand, 
and  Pythias  is  on  the  platform  cheerfully  taking  off  his  coal. 
Near  by  stands  a  man  with  a  broadax.  The  Syracuse  silver 
cornet  band  has  just  played  "It's  funny  when  you  feel  that 
way,"  and  the  chaplain  has  made  a  long  prayer,  Pythias 
sliding  a  trade  dollar  into  his  hand  and  whispering  to  him  to 
give  him  his  money's  worth.  The  Declaration  of  Independ- 
ence has  been  read,  and  the  man  on  the  left  is  running  his 
thumb  playfully  over  the  edge  of  his  meat  ax.  Pythias  takes 
off  his  collar  and  tie,  swearing  softly  to  himself  at  his  miser- 
able luck. 

CHAPTER  IV. 

It  is  now  the  proper  time  to  throw  in  the  solitary  horse- 
man. The  horizontal  bars  of  golden  light  from  the  setting  sun 
gleam  and  glitter  from  the  dome  of  the  court  house  and  bathe 


SJ~ 


the  green  plains  of  Syracuse  with  mellow  splendor.  The 
billowy  piles  of  fleecy  bronze  in  the  eastern  sky  look  soft  and 
vielding,  like  a  Sarah  Bernhardt.  The  lowing  herd  winds 
slowly  o'er  the  lea,  and  all  nature  seems  oppressed  with  thfc. 
solemn  hush  and  stillness  of  the  surrounding  asd  engulfing- 
horror* 


BIO,   NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  17 

The  solitary  horseman  is  seen  coming  along  the  Albany 
and  Syracuse  toll  road.  He  jabs  the  Mexican  spurs  into  the 
foamy  flank  of  his  noble  cayuse  plug,  and  the  lash  of  the 
quirt  as  it  moves  through  the  air  is  singing  a  merry  song. 
Damon  has  been  delayed  by  road  agents  and  washouts,  and 
he  is  a  little  behind  time.  Besides,  he  fooled  a  little  too 
long  and  dallied  in  Albany  with  his  fair  gazelle.  But  he 
is  making  up  time  now  and  he  sails  into  the  jail  yard  just  in 
time  to  take  his  part.  He  and  Pythias  fall  into  each  other's 
arms,  borrow  a  chew  of  fine-cut  from  each  other  and  weep 
to  slow  music.  Dionysius  comes  before  the  curtain,  bows 
and  says  the  exercises  will  be  postponed.  He  orders  the 
band  to  play  something  soothing,  gives  Damon  the  appoint- 
ment of  Superintendent  of  Public  Instruction  and  Pythias 
the  Syracuse  post-office,  and  everything  is  lovely.  Orches- 
tra plays  something  touchful.  Curtain  comes  down.  Keno. 
In  hoc  usufruct  Nux  Vomica  est. 


SAD  MEMORIES  OF  THE  DEAD  YEAR. 

It  is  with  the  deepest  regret  that  I  write  in  advance  the 
obituary  of  the  year  1S79,  and  pay  a  last  tribute  to  another 
landmark  in  our  history  before  it  be  consigned  to  the  bound- 
less realms  of  the  past.  I  do  not  write  this  as  an  item  of 
local  interest,  because  the  year  will  fold  its  icy  limbs  and  die 
at  about  the  same  time  to  the  people  of  the  East  as  to  us. 
The  limit  of  totality  will  strike  us  about  the  same.  But  I 
write  of  the  last  moments  of  1879,  as  the  subject  seems  to 
me. 

The  year  now  nearly  gone  has  been  fraught  with  almost 
innumerable  blessings.     None  of  us  can  look  back  over  it 


l8  BILL   NYE   AND   BOOMERANG. 

without  remembering  many  moments  of  pleasure.  With 
what  unalloyed  bliss  at  this  moment  comes  back  to  me  the 
memory  of  that  rich  golden  day  of  summer  when  the  first 
watermelon  billed  the  town  and  I  mortgaged  my  little  home 
and  bought  it.  Then  also  I  call  to  mind  the  day  when  the 
first  strawberries  began  to  be  convalescent  and  were  able  to 
be  out,  and  how  forty  or  fifty  of  our  leading  business  men 
formed  a  joint  stock  company  and  bought  a  whole  box, 
Ah !  life  gives  no  richer  recompense  for  its  numberless  ills 
than  the  proud  moments  when  one  buys  the  first  box  of  un- 
happy dyspeptic  berries  of  the  season,  and  then  compromises 
with  one's  creditors  at  ten  cents  on  the  dollar. 

Then  followed  the  ripe  and  radiant  days  of  the  Indian 
summer  when  the  peaks  of  the  distant  mountains  that  bound 
the  horizon,  melt  away  into  the  soft  warm  sky,  and  the  only 
sound  that  breaks  the  stillness  is  the  merry  roundelay  of  the 
John  rabbit  softly  cooing  to  his  mate.  It  is  the  choice  sea- 
son of  the  year  when  there  is  a  solemn  hush  resting  over 
the  whole  broad  universe,  a  stillness  like  that  which  falls 
upon  a  peasant's  dance  when  the  "  E  "  string  of  the  leading 
violin  dissolves  partnership,  and  hits  the  bass  violinist  in  the 
eye. 

There  are,  indeed,  many  things  for  which  we  individually 
and  as  a  people  should  be  devoutly  thankful.  Think,  for 
instance,  how  many  Indians  along  our  frontier  have  escaped 
violent  deaths.  Consider  for  a  moment  how  a  long  and 
bloody  war  has  been  avoided  by  the  more  gentle  sway  of 
peace. 

See  how  the  olive  branch  waves,  where  a  few  months 
ago  the  tocsin  of  war  echoed  from  the  rugged  hills  of  the 
West.  The  saber  now  hangs  idly  in  its  sheath  and  the 
alarums  of  war  have  petered  out.     See  what  a  kind  and 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  I9 

considerate  policy  toward  the  wild  untutored  savage  will  do 
toward  promoting  the  advance  of  universal  civilization.  By- 
means  of  the  Boston  peace  plan  the  opera  and  pin-pool  and 
other  adjuncts  of  wealth  and  refinement  will  be  placed  within 
the  reach  of  the  most  illiterate  and  worthless  sons  of  the  forest. 

It  is  true  we  are  looked  upon  by  other  nations  as  the  re- 
public with  a  warm  molasses  poultice  Indian  policy;  but 
right  and  softness  and  gentleness  have  overcome  brute  force 
and  might.  We  of  the  West  are  too  apt  to  be  violent  and 
radical  in  our  treatment  of  the  Indian.  When  he  kills  our 
family,  all  the  family  we  have  got,  perhaps,  too,  and  leaves 
us  a  lonely  widower  with  the  graves  of  our  mangled  house- 
hold to  remember  him  by,  we  are  too  prone  to  be  bitter,  and 
say  mean,  hateful  things  about  him,  and  run  him  down  and 
destroy  his  boom.  We  do  not  stop  to  consider  that  this  is 
all  the  fun  he  has.  We  should  learn  to  control  ourselves, 
and  look  upon  the  Indian  as  a  diamond  in  the  rough.  That's 
the  way  I  do.  I  look  upon  Colorow  as  a  regular  Kohinoor, 
if  he  were  only  polished.  I  would  be  willing  to  polish  him, 
too,  if  I  had  time  and  felt  strong  enough.  I  would  hold  his 
nose  against  an  emery  wheel,  or  something  of  that  kind,  very 
cheerfully,  if  my  time  were  not  all  taken  up. 

But  I  have  wandered  away  from  what  I  was  going  to 
say  relative  to  the  old  year  and  drifted  into  the  Indian  ques- 
tion, thus  crowding  out  many  sweet  little  things  which  I  had 
mapped  out  to  say  of  the  snowy  winding  sheet  which 
shrouds  the  dying  year,  and  some  more  things  of  that  kind, 
touching  and  beautiful  in  the  extreme.  I  have  allowed 
other  matters  to  take  the  place  of  these  little  poetical  pas- 
sages and  make  a  dull,  prosy  article  of  what  I  had  intended 
to  construct  into  a  frail  and  beautiful  fabric,  with  slendef 
pinnacles,  sublime  arches  and  Queen  Anne  woodshed, 


20 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 


HERE  WE  COME! 


HERE  WE  COME! 


HERE  WE  COME! 


13  I  BILL  NYE'S   I  13 

Thirteenth  Grand  Semi-Annual 
FAREWELL  CIRCUS  AND  HIPPODROME. 


THE  MAN-EATING  LION,  LIVER  PAD. 

He  eats  nothing  but  fresh  Ohio  men. 

Do  not  fail  to  see  our  Mammoth  Street  Parade,  the 
Grand  Oriental  and  Princely  Pageant,  over  nine  miles  in 
length,  and  don't  you  forget  it!  It  has  been  pronounced  by 
the  crowned  heads  of  the  world  to  be  the  most  Scrumptuous 
Mighty  and  Magnificent  Confederation  of  Wonders. 
Knights  in  full  panoply — ladies  without  any  panoply  on. 
Kndless  ranks  of  gold  bedizened  cages,  recherche  chariots; 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  21 

boss  camels,  with  or  without  humps;    cages  of  mammoth 
reptilian  angle- worms;  lions  stuffed  with  baled  hay;  petri- 
fied circus  jokes;    preserved  seats;    gazelle-like   elephants, 
nd  a  bang-up  outfit  generally. 


It  is  well  worth  a  journey  of  one  hundred  miles  to  see 
a-one  our  mammoth  band  chariot,  flecked  with  burnished 
gold,  and  costing  $250  per  fleck. 

'  22P  We  wil1  not  be  outflecked!     Bear  in  mind  the  time 
ar.d  place! 

GRANITE  CANON,  AUGUST  14TH. 

Afternoon  and  evening,  with  Grand  Matinee  for  bald- 
headed  men  at  5  p.m.  each  day. 


THE  FAMOUS  TRAKENE  STALUON.  BOOMERANG; 


22 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 


I  challenge  the  world  to  produce  the  equal  of  this  highl) 
intellectual  and  amusing  little  cuss.  He  stands  on  four  feel 
at  one  and  the  same  time,  in  the  mammoth  pavilion,  and  at 
one  price  of  admission,  eating  out  of  the  hand  with  the 
utmost  docility  and  reckless  abandon.  Boomerang  is  the 
only  living  performing  trick  stallion  ever  born  in  captivity. 


MY  MAMMOTH  ELECTRIC  LIGHT. 

In  connection  with  the  untold  and  priceless  splendor  of 
the  glittering  pageant,  I  will  introduce  the  Dynamo,  Hydro- 
phosphatic,  Perihelion  Electric  Light,  in  comparison  with 
which  the  mid-day  sun  looks  like  a  convalescent  white  bean. 
In  brilliancy  and  refulgent  splendor,  it  without  doubt  lays 
over  and  everlastingly  knocks  the  socks  off  all  other  lights 
now  in  the  known  world.  This  statement  I  am  prepared 
to  back  up  with  the  necessary  kopecks. 

The  wonderful  Tat- 
tooed Steer  from  Stink- 
ing Water.  If  not 
exactly  as  represented, 
your  money  will  be 
refunded  to  you  as  you 
pass  out  the  door. 

This  costly  and  truly 
picturesque        Queen 
Anne  Steer  was  secured  at  great  cost  to  the  management, 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 


23 


and  will  positively  appear  every  day  in  the  regular  pro- 
gramme, and  within  the  mammoth  pavilion.  If  he  does 
not  in  every  respect  do  as  I  advertise,  and  with  one  hand 
tied  behind  him,  I  will  be  responsible. 


Before  and  after  visiting 
my  Mammoth  Show. 


The  royal  Mexican  Plug,  Billy  English,  and  the  truly 
remarkable  mule  with  the  genuine  camel's  hair  tail,  Win- 
field  Scott  Hancock, 

These  animals,  with  almost 
human  intelligence,  walk 
around  the  ring,  stepping 
first  on  one  foot  and  then  on 
the  other.  They  have  been 
procured  at  enormous  expense 
and  may  be  found  only  with 

my  stupendous  aggregation  of  trained  animals. 

They  represent  the  perfect  pyramid  at  each  performance 

as  represented  in  the  above  enoravino- 

The  steer  which  performs 
upon  the  flying  trapeze  and 
horizontal  bar. 

The  only  steer  that  has  ever 
successfully  enacted  the  aerig. 
dive  or  eagle  swoop. 

The  wonderful  performing 
steer,  Zazel,  is    the    only   one. 

THE  SENSATION.  ,  ,  J 

horned,    one-eared     and     bob. 
^iled  steer  ever  born  in  captivity- 


24  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

This  steer  is  found  alone  with  Bill  Nye's  Great  Cast-Iron 
Hippodrome  aud  27-Karat  Utopian  Giganticum. 

THE  PRESS  CORDIALLY  INVITED. 

I  extend  to  the  members  of  the  press  everywhere  a  most 
hearty  invitation.  They  will  be  furnished  with  luxuriant 
reclining  chairs,  porcelain  cuspidores,  and  gold  toothpicks  to 
pick  out  the  fragments  of  lemonade  from  their  pearly  teeth 

A  special  clown  will  be  devoted  to  the  members  of  the 
press. 

A  guide  will  have  charge  of  visiting  journalists  to  show 
them  the  curiosities,  and  see  that  they  do  not  forget  and 
carry  anything  away. 

Members  of  the  press  will  be  allowed  to  sit  on  the  top 
seats  and  let  their  feet  hang  down. 

J^P33  Do  not  fool  with  the  animals. 

PRESS  COMMENTS. 

The  O wltown  Bunghole  says :  "  No  living  man  has  ever 
heretofore  dared  to  perform  all  he  advertised.  Bill  Nye 
certainly  has  secured  the  most  wonderful  and  costly  galaxy 
of  arenic  talent,  and  the  most  perfect  and  oriental  conglome- 
ration of  grand,  gloomy  and  peculiar  zoological  specimens 
from  the  four  corners  of  the  globe.  The  editor  and  his 
nineteen  children,  with  his  wife  and  hired  girl,  were  passed 
in  yesterday  by  the  handsome  and  gentlemanly,  modest  and 
lady-like  proprietor  of  Bill  Nye's  ownest  own  and  simul- 
taneous world-renowned  hippodrome  and  menagerie." 

A  CARD. 

A  report  has  been  set  in  circulation,  probably  by  some 
unprincipled  rival  showmen,  to  the  effect  that  I  will  not 
exhibit  with  my  entire  show  at  Granite  Canon,  but  that  the 
main  show  will  he  divided,  the  famous  Trakene  Stallion, 
Boomerang,  going  to  Greeley  \  the  Royal  Mexican  Plug 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  25 

Billy  English,  going  to  Whiskey  Flat;  the  Mammoth  Rep- 
tilian Angleworm  going  to  Last  Chance;  the  famous  Trick 
Mule,  Winfield  Scott  Hancock,  going  to  Tie  City,  while 
the  balance  of  the  show  would  appear  at  Granite  Canon. 

I  pronounce  this  and  all  similar  reports  the  most  flagrant, 
lying  canards,  as  I  shall  not  only  appear  at  Granite  Canon 
with  my  entire  aggregation  of  my  own  and  only  jam-up- 
and-scrumptuous  show  and  North  American  Boss  and 
Supreme  Oriental  and  Collossal  Menagerie,  but  at  all  points 
where  I  have  advertised  to  appear.  I  make  no  show,  but  I 
can  buy  and  sell  every  show  on  the  road  before  breakfast, 
and  don't  you  forget  it. 


I  travel  on  my  own  special  train,  and  regular  passenger 
and  express  trains  are  held  while  I  have  the  right  of  way 
with  my  elegant  drawing-room  and  palace  cars  for  the 
animals,  and  colossal  silver  chariots  for  the  men. 

I  exhibit  also  under  my  acres  and  acres  of  canvas,  and 
two-bits  will  admit  you  to  all  parts  of  the  show. 

Special  trains  will  run  to  and  from  Granite  Canon  on  the 
day  of  the  show  at  regular  rates. 

Simultaneously  yours, 

Bill  Nye. 


z6  BILL   NYE    AND    BOOMERANG, 

LETTER  FROM  PARIS. 

Paris,  May  30th,  1878. 
I  am  going  to  rest  myself  by  writing  a  few  pages  in  the 
language  spoken  in  the  United  States,  for  I  am  tired  of  -the 
infernal  lingo  of  this  God-forsaken  country,  and  feel  like 
talking  in  my  own  mother  tongue  and  on  some  other  sub- 
ject than  the  Exposition.  I  have  very  foolishly  tried  to  talk 
a  little  of  this  tongue-destroying  French,  but  my  teeth  are 
so  loose  now  that  I  am  going  to  let  them  tighten  up  again 
before  I  try  it  any  more. 

Day  before  yesterday  it  was  very  warm,  and  I  asked  two 
or  three  friends  to  step  into  a  big  drug-store  on  the  Rue  de 
La  Sitting  Bull,  to  get  a  glass  of  soda.  (I  don't  remember 
the  names  of  these  streets,  so  in  some  cases  I  give  them 
Wyoming  names.)  I  think  the  man  who  kept  the  place 
probably  came  from  Canada.  Most  all  the  people  in  Paris 
are  Canadians.  He  came  forward,  and  had  a  slight  attack 
of  delirium  tremens,  and  said : 
"Ze  vcoly  voo  a  la  boomerang?" 
I  patted  the  soda  fountain  and  said: 

"  No,  not  so  bad  as  that,  if  you  please.  Just  squeeze  a 
little  of  your  truck  into  a  tumbler, 
and  flavor  it  to  suit  the  boys.  As  for 
myself,  I  will  take  about  two  fingers 
of  bug-juice  in  mine  to  sweeten  my 
breath." 

But  he  didn't  understand  me.     His 
parents  had  neglected  his  education,  no 
doubt,  and   got   him  a  job  in  a  drug 
^^jjB^P      store.     So  I  said : 

"Look  here,  you  frog-hunting,  red-headed  Communist, 
I  will  give  you  just  five  minutes  to  fix  up  my  beverage,  and 


BILL    NYE    ANt>    BOOMERANG.  27 

if  you  will  put  a  little  tanglefoot  into  it  I  will  pay  you; 
otherwise  I  will  picx:  up  a  pound  weight  and  paralyze  you. 
Now,  you  understand.  Flavor  it  with  spirituous  frumenti, 
old  rye,  benzine — bay  rum — anything!  Parley  voo,  e  flurl- 
bus  unum,  sic  semper  go  braugh!  Do  you  understand 
that? 

But  he  didn't  understand  it,  so  I  had  to  kill  him.  I  am 
having  him  stuffed.  The  taxidermist  who  is  doing  the  job 
lives  down  on  the  Rue  de  la  Crazy  Woman's  Fork.  I  think 
that  is  the  name  of  the  Rue  that  he  lives  on. 

Paris  is  quite  an  old  town.  It  is  older  and  wickeder  than 
Cheyenne,  I  think,  but  I  may  be  prejudiced  against  the 
place.  It  is  very  warm  here  this  summer,  and  there  are  a 
good  many  odors  that  I  don't  know  the  names  of.  It  is  a 
great  national  congress  of  rare  imported  smells.  I  have 
detected  and  catalogued  1,350  out  of  a  possible  1,400. 

I  have  not  enjoyed  the  Exposition  so  much  as  I  thought 
I  was  going  to;  partly  because  it  has  been  so  infernally  hot, 
and  partly  because  I  have  been  a  little  homesick.  I  was 
very  homesick  on  board  ship;  very  homesick  indeed.  About 
all  the  amusement  that  we  had  crossing  the  wide  waste  of 
waters  was  to  go  and  lean  over  the  ship's  railing  by  the 
hour,  and  telescope  the  duodenum  into  the  aesophagus.  I 
used  to  stand  that  way  and  look  down  into  the  dark  green 
depths  of  old  ocean,  and  wonder  what  mysterious  secrets 
were  hidden  beneath  the  green  cold  waves  and  the  wide 
rushing  waste  of  swirling,  foamy  waters.  I  learned  to  love 
this  weird  picture  at  last,  and  used  to  go  out  on  deck  every 
morning  and  swap  my  breakfast  to  this  priceless  panorama 
for  the  privilege  of  watching  it  all  day. 

I  can't  say  that  I  hanker  very  much  for  a   life  on   the 
ocean  wave.     I  am  trying  to  arrange  it  so  as  to  go  home  by 


28  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

land.  I  think  I  can  make  up  for  the  additional  expense  in 
food.  I  bought  more  condemned  sustenance,  and  turned  it 
over  to  the  Atlantic  ocean  for  inspection,  than  I  have  eaten 
since  I  came  here. 


PREHISTORIC   CROCKERY. 

During  my  rambles  through  the  Medicine  Bow  Range 
of  the  Rocky  mountains  recently,  I  was  shown  by  an  old 
frontiersman  a  mound  which,  although  worn  down  some- 
what and  torn  to  pieces  by  the  buffalo,  the  antelope  and  the 
coyote,  still  bore  the  appearance  of  having  been  at  one  time 
very  large  and  high. 

This,  I  was  told,  had,  no  doubt,  been  the  burial  place  of 
some  ancient  tribe  or  race  of  men,  the  cemetery,  perhaps, 
of  a  nation  now  unknown. 

Here  in  the  heart  of  a  new  world,  where  men  who  had 
known  the  region  for  fifteen  or  twenty  years,  are  now  called 
"  old  timers,"  where  "  new  discoveries "  had  been  made 
within  my  own  recollection,  we  found  the  sepulchre  of  a 
nation  that  was  old  when  the  Pilgrims  landed  on  the  shores 
of  Columbia. 

I  am  something  of  an  antiquarian  with  all  my  numerous 
charms,  and  I  resolved  to  excavate  at  this  spot  and  learn  the 
hidden  secrets  of  those  people  who  lived  when  our  earth 
was  young. 

I  started  to  dig  into  the  vast  sarcophagus.  The  ground 
was  very  hard.  The  more  I  worked  the  more  I  felt  that  T 
was  desecrating  the  burial  place  of  a  mighty  race  of  men, 
now  powerless  to  defend  themselves  against  the  vandal 
hands  that  sought  to  mar  their  eternal  slumber. 

I  resolved  to  continue  my  researches   according  to  the 


lilLL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  1*) 

Vicarious  plan.  I  secured  the  services  of  a  hardened,  soul- 
less hireling,  who  did  not  wot  of  the  solemn  surroundings, 
and  who  could  dig  faster  than  I  could.  He  proceeded  with 
the  excavation  business,  while  I  sought  a  shady  dell  where 
I  could  weep  alone. 

It  was  a  solemn  thought,  indeed.     I  murmured  softly  to 

myself — 

The  knights  are  dust, 
Their  swords  are  rust; 
Their  souls  are  with 
The  saints,  we  trust. 

Just  then  a  wood-tick  ran  up  one  of  my  alabaster  limbs 
about  nine  feet,  made  a  location  and  began  to  do  some  work 
on  it  under  the  United  States  mining  laws. 

I  removed  him  by  force  and  submitted  him  to  the  dry 
crushing  process  between  a  piece  of  micaceous  slate  and  a 
'  fragment  of  deodorized,  copper-stained  manganese. 

But  we  were  speaking  of  the  Aztecs,  not  the  woodticks. 

Nothing  on  earth  is  old  save  by  comparison.    The  air  we 

breathe  and  which  we  are  pleased  to  call  fresh  air,  is  only 

so  comparatively.     It  is  the  same  old   air.     As  a  recent  air 

it  is  not  so  fresh  as  "  Silver  Threads  Among  the  Gold." 

It  has  been  in  one  form  and  another  through  the  ever 
shifting  ages  all  along  the  steady  march  of  tireless  time,  but 
it  is  the  same  old  union  of  various  gaseous  elements  floating 
through  space,  only  remodeled  for  the  spring  trade. 

All  we  see  or  hear  or  feel,  is  old.  Truth  itself  is  old. 
Old  and  falling  into  disuse,  too.  Outside  of  what  I  am 
using  in  my  business,  perhaps,  not  over  two  or  three  bales 
are  now  on  the  market. 

Here  in  the  primeval  solitude,  undisturbed  by  the  foot  of 
man,   I  had   found  the  crumbling  remnants  of  those  who 


3° 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 


once  walked   the  earth   in  their  might  and   vaunted  their 
strength  among  the  powers  of  their  world. 

No  doubt  they  had  experienced  the  first  wild  thrill  of  all- 
powerful  love,  and  thought  that  it  was  a  new  thing.  They 
had  known,  with  mingled  pain  and  pleasure,  when  they 
struggled  feebly  against  the  omnipotent  sway  of  consuming 
passion,  that  they  were  mashed,  and  they  flattered  them- 
selves that  they  were  the  first  in  all  the  illimititable  range 
of  relentless  years  who  had  been  fortunate  enough  to  get 
hold  of  the  genuine  thing.  All  others  had  been  base  imita- 
tions. 

Here,  perhaps,  on  this  very  spot,  the  Aztec  youth  with  a 
bright  eyed  maiden  on  his  arm  had  pledged  life-long  fidelity 
to  her  shrine,  and  in  the  midnight  silence  had  stolen  away 
from  her  with  a  pang  of  vigorous  regret,  followed  by  the 
sobs  of  his  soul's  idol  and  the  demoralizing,  leaden  rain  of 
buckshot,  with  the  compliments  and  best  wishes  of  the  old 
man. 

While  I  was  meditating  upon  these  things 
a  glad  shout  from  the  scene  of  operations 
attracted  my  attention.  I  rose  and  went  to 
the  scene  of  excavation,  and  found,  to  my  un- 
speakable astonishment  and  pleasure,  that  the 
man  had  unearthed  a  large  Queen  Anne  tear 
jug,  with  Etruscan  work  upon  the  exterior. 
It  was  simply  one  of  the  old-fashioned  single- 
barrelled  tear  jugs,  made  for  a  one-eyed  man 
to  cry  into.  The  vessel  was  about  eighteen 
inches  in  height  by  five  or  six  inches  in  diameter,  and 
similar  to  the  cut  above. 

The  graceful  yet  perhaps  severe  pottery  of  the  Aztecs 
convinces  me  that  they  were  fully  abreast  of  the  present 


BILL   NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 


3* 


century  in  their  knowledge  of  the  arts  arc]  sciences. 

Space  will  not  admit  of  an  extended  description  of  this 
ancient  tear  cooler,  but  I  am  still  continuing  the  antiquarian 
researches — vicariously,  of  course, — and  will  give  this  sub 
ject  more  attention  during  the  summer. 


SUGGESTION'S  FOR  A  SCHOOL  OF  JOURNALISM. 

A  number  of  friends  having  personally  asked  me  to  ex- 
press an  opinion  upon  the  matter  of  an  established  school  of 
journalism,  as  spoken  of  by  ex-Mayor  Henry  C.  Robinson, 
of  Hartford,  Connecticut,  and  many  more  through  the 
West  who  are  strangers  to  me  personally,  having  written 
me  to  give  my  views  upon  the  subject,  I  have  consented  in 
so  far  that  I  will  undertake  a  simple  synopsis  of  what  the 
course  should  embrace. 

I  most  heartily  indorse  the  movement,  if  it  may  be  called 
such  at  this  early  stage.  Knowing  a  little  of  the  intricacies 
of  this  branch  of  the  profession,  I  am  going  to  state  fully  my 
belief  as  to  its  importance,  and  the  necessity  for  a  thorouo-h 
training  upon  it.  We  meet  almost  everywhere  newspaper 
men  who  are  totallv  unfitted  for  the  hiorh  office  of  Dublic 
educators  through  the  all-powerful  press.  The  woods  is  full 
of  them.  We  know  that  not  one  out  of  a  thousand  of  those 
who  are  to-day  classed  as  journalists  is  fit  for  that  position. 

I  know  that  to  be  the  case,  because  people  tell  me  so. 

I  cannot  call  to  mind  to-day,  in  all  my  wide  journalistic 
acquaintance,  a  solitary  man  who  has  not  been  pronounced 
an  ass  by  one  or  more  of  my  fellow-men.  This  is  indeed  z. 
terrible  state  of  affairs. 

In  many  instances  these  harsh  criticisms  are  made  by  those 


3^  Kill  nVe  ArtD  boomehak&. 

Who  do  not  know,  without  submitting  themselves  to  a 
tremendous  mental  strain,  the  difference  between  a  "  lower 
case  "  q  and  the  old  Calvinistic  doctrine  of  unanimous  dam- 
nation, bui  that  makes  no  difference;  the  true  journalist 
should  strive  to  please  the  masses.  He  should  make  his 
whole  life  a  study  of  human  nature  and  an  earnest  effort  to 
serve  the  great  reading  world  collectively  and  individually. 

This  requires  a  man,  of  course,  with  similar  characteristics 
and  the  same  general  information  possessed  by  the  Almighty 
but  who  would  be  willing  to  work  at  a  much  more  moder- 
ate salary. 

The  reader  will  instantly  see  how  difficult  it  is  to  obtain 
this  class  of  men.  Outside  of  the  mental  giant  who  writes 
these  lines  and  two  or  three  others,  perhaps 

But  never  mind.  I  leave  a  grateful  world  to  say  that, 
while  I  map  out  a  plan  for  the  ambitious  young  journalist 
who  might  be  entering  upon  the  broad  arena  of  news- 
paperdom,  and  preparing  himself  at  a  regularly  established 
school  for  that  purpose. 

Let  the  first  two  years  be  devoted  to  meditation  and 
prayer.  This  will  prepare  the  young  editor  for  the  surprise 
and  consequent  profanity  which  in  a  few  years  he  may  ex- 
perience when  he  finds  in  his  boss  editorial  that  God  is 
spelled  with  a  little  g,  and  the  peroration  of  the  article  has 
been  taken  out  and  carefully  locked  up  between  a  death 
notice  and  the  announcement  of  the  birth  of  a  cross-eyed 
infant. 

The  ensuing  five  years  should  be  spent  in  becoming  fa- 
miliar with  the  surprising  and  mirth-provoking  orthography 
of  the  English  language. 

Then  would  follow  three  years  devoted  to  practice  with 
dumb  bells,  sand  bags  and  slung  shots,  in  order  to  become 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  33 

an  athlete.  1  have  found  in  my  own  journalistic  history 
more  cause  for  regret  over  my  neglect  of  this  branch  than 
any  other.  I  am  a  pretty  good  runner,  but  aside  from  that 
I  regret  to  say  that  as  an  athlete  I  am  not  a  dazzling  success. 

The  above  course  of  intermediate  training  would  fit  the 
student  to  enter  upon  the  regular  curriculum. 

Then  set  aside  ten  years  for  learning  the  typographical 
art  perfectly,  so  that  when  visitors  wish  to  look  at  the  com- 
posing room,  and  ask  the  editor  to  explain  the  use  of  the 
"  hell  box,"  he  will  not  have  to  blush  and  tell  a  gauzy  lie 
about  its  being  a  composing  stick.  Let  the  young  journalist 
study  the  mysteries  of  type  setting,  distributing,  press  work, 
gallies,  italic,  shooting"  sticks,  type  lice  and  other  mechanical 
implements  of  the  printer's  department. 

Five  years  should  be  spent  in  learning  to  properly  read 
and  correct  proof,  as  well  as  how  to  mark  it  on  the  margin 
like  a  Chinese  map  of  the  Gunnison  country. 

At  least  fifteen  years  should  then  be  devoted  to  the  study 
of  American  politics  and  the  whole  civil  service.  This  time 
could  be  extended  five  years  with  great  profit  to  the  careful 
student  who  wishes,  of  course,  to  know  thoroughly  the 
names  and  records  of  all  public  men,  together  with  the  rela- 
tive political  strength  of  each  party. 

He  should  then  take  a  medical  course  and  learn  how  to 
bind  up  contusions,  apply  arnica,  court  plaster  or  bandages, 
plug  up  bullet  holes  and  prospect  through  the  human  sys- 
tem for  buck  shot.  The  reason  of  this  course  which  should 
embrace  five  years  of  close  study,  is  apparent  to  the  thinking 
mind. 

Ten  years  should  then  be  devoted  to  the  study  of  law . 
TsTo  thorough  metropolitan  editor  wants  to  enter  upon  his 
profession  without  knowing  the  difference  between  a  writ 
*3 


24  BILL   NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

of  mandamus  and  other  styles  of  profanity.  He  should 
thoroughly  understand  the  entire  system  of  American  juris- 
prudence, and  be  as  familiar  with  the  more  recent  decisions 
of  the  courts  as  New  York  people  are  with  the  semi-annual 
letter  of  Governor  Seymour  declining  the  Presidency. 

The  student  will  by  this  time  begin  to  see  what  is  required 
of  him  and  will  enter  with  greater  zeal  upon  his  adopted 
profession. 

He  will  now  enter  upon  a  theological  course  of  ten  years. 
He  can  then  write  a  telling  editorial  on  the  great  question 
of  What  We  Shall  Do  To  Be  Saved  without  mixing  up 
Calvin  and  Tom  Paine  with  Judas  Iscariot  and  Ben  Butler. 

The  closing  ten  years  of  the  regularccourse  might  be  profit- 
ably used  in  learning  a  practical  knowledge  of  cutting  cord 
wood,  baking  beans,  making  shirts,  lecturing,  turning  double 
handsprings,  preaching  the  gospel,  learning  how  to  make  a 
good  adhesive  paste  that  will  not  sour  in  hot  weather,  learn- 
ing the  art  of  scissors  grinding,  punctuation,  capitalization, 
prosody,  plain  sewing,  music,  dancing,  sculping,  etiquette, 
how  to  win  the  affections  of  the  opposite  sex,  the  ten  com- 
mandments, every  man  his  own  teacher  on  the  violin,  cro- 
quet, rules  of  the  prize  ring,  parlor  magic,  civil  engineering, 
decorative  art,  calsomining,  bicycling,  base  ball,  hydraulics, 
botany,  poker,  calisthenics,  high-low  jack,  international  law, 
faro,  rhetoric,  fifteen-ball  pool,  drawing  and  painting,  mule 
skinning,  vocal  music,  horsemanship,  plastering,  bull  whack- 
ing, etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

At  the  age  of  95  the  student  will  have  lost  that  wild,  reck- 
less and  impulsive  style  so  common  among  younger  and  less 
experienced  journalists.  He  will  emerge  from  the  school 
with  a  light  heart  and  a  knowledge-box  loaded  up  to  the 
muzzle  with  the  most  useful  information. 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  35 

The  hey  day  and  springtime  of  life  will,  of  course,  be 
past,  but  the  graduate  will  have  nothing  to  worry  him  any 
more,  except  the  horrible  question  which  is  ever  rising  up 
before  the  journalist,  as  to  whether  he  shall  put  his  money 
into  government  four  per  cents  or  purchase  real  estate  in 
some  growing  town. 


THE  FRAGRANT  MORMON. 

On  Tuesday  morning  I  went  down  to  the  depot  to  see  a 
large  train  of  ten  cars  loaded  with  imported  Mormons.  I 
am  not  very  familiar  with  the  workings  of  the  Church  of 
Latter-day  Saints,  but  I  went  down  to  see  the  350  prose- 
lytes on  their  way  to  their  adopted  home.  I  went  simply 
out  of  curiosity.  Now  my  curiosity  is  satisfied.  I  haven't 
got  to  look  at  a  Mormon  train  again,  and  it  fills  my  heart 
with  a  nameless  joy  about  the  size  of  an  elephant's  lip,  to 
think  that  I  haven't  grot  to  do  this  any  more.  All  through 
the  bright  years  of  promise  yet  to  come  I  need  not  ever  go 
out  of  my  way  to  look  at  these  chosen  people. 

When  I  was  a  boy  I  had  two  terrible  obstacles  to  over- 
come, and  I  have  dreaded  them  all  my  life  until  very 
recently.  One  was  to  eat  a  chunk  of  Limberger  cheese, 
and  the  other  was  to  look  at  a  Mormon  emigrant  train. 

After  I  visited  the  train  I  thought  I  might  as  well  go  and 
tackle  the  Limberger  cheese,  and  be  out  of  my  misery.  I 
did  so,  and  the  cheese  actually  tasted  like  a  California  pear, 
and  smtMed  like  the  atter  of  roses.  It  seemed  to  take  the 
taste  of  the  Mormons  out  of  my  mouth. 

I  sometimes  look  at  a  carload  of  Montana  cattle,  or 
Western  sheep,  and  they  seem  to  be  a  good  deal  travel-worr, 


36  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

and  out  of  repair,  but  they  are  pure  as  the  beautiful  snow  in 
comparison  to  what  I  saw  Tuesday  morning. 

Along  the  Union  Pacific  track,  on  either  side,  the  green 
grass  and  mountain  flowers  looked  up  into  the  glad  sunlight, 
took  one  good  smell  and  died.  Cattle  were  driven  off  the 
range,  and  the  corpses  of  overland  tramps  were  strewn 
along;  the  wake  of  this  train,  like  the  sands  of  the  sea. 

Deacon  Bullard,  Joe  Arthur,  Timber  Line  Jones  and 
myself  went  over  together.  Deacon  Bullard  thought  that 
the  party  was  from  Poland  and  went  through  the  train 
inquiring  for  a  man  named  Orlando  Standemoff.  I  claimed 
that  they  were  Scandinavians,  and  I  followed  him  through 
the  cars  asking  for  a  man  named  Twoquart  Kettlesonand 
Numerousotherson.     Neither  of  us  were  successful. 

One  of  these  Mormons  was  overtaken  near  Point  of 
Rocks,  with  an  irresistable  desire  to  change  his  socks  (no 
poetry  intended)  and  before  the  brakeman  could  lariat  him 
and  kill  him,  he  had  done  so. 

The  Union  Pacific  will  abandon  this  part  of  the  road  now 
and  leave  this  point  several  miles  away  rather  than  spend 
two  millions  of  dollars  for  disinfectants. 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE  OPERA. 

Most  every  one  thinks  that  I  don't  know  much  about 
music  and  the  opera,  but  this  is  not  the  case.  I  am  very 
enthusiastic  over  this  class  of  entertainment,  and  I  will  take 
the  liberty  to  trespass  upon  the  time  and  patience  of  my 
readers  for  a  few  moments  while  I  speak  briefly  but  graphi- 
cally on  this  subject.  A  few  evenings  ago  I  had  the  pleas- 
ure of  listening  to  the  rendition  of  the  "  Bohemian  Girl  "  by 
Emma  Abbott  and  her  troupe  at  the  Grand  Opera  House,  I 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  37 

was  a  little  late,  but  the  manager  had  saved  me  a  pleasant 
seat  where  I  could  alternately  look  at  the  stage  and  out 
through  the  skylight  into  the  clear  autumn  sky. 

The  plot  of  the  play  seems  to  be  that  "  Arline,"  a  nice 
little  chunk  of  a  girl,  is  stolen  by  a  band  of  gypsies,  owned 
and  operated  by  "  Devilshoof,"  who  looks  some  like 
"  Othello  "  and  some  like  Sitting  Bull.  "  Arline  "  grows 
up  among  the  gypsies  and  falls  in  love  witn  "  Thaddeus." 
"  Thaddeus  "  was  played  by  Brignoli.  Brignoli  was  named 
after  a  thoroughbred  horse. 

"  Arline "  falls  asleep  in  the  gypsy  camp  and  dreams  a 
large  majolica  dream,  which  she  tells  to  "  Thaddeus."  She 
says  that  she  dreamed  that  she  dwelt  in  marble  halls  and 
kept  a  girl  and  had  a  pretty  fly  time  generally,  but  after  all 
she  said  it  tickled  her  more  to  know  that  "  Thaddeus  "  loved 
her  still  the  same,  and  she  kept  saying  this  to  him  in  G, 
and  up  on  the  upper  register,  and  down  on  the  second  added 
line  below,  and  crescendo  and  diminuendo  and  deuodessimo, 
forward  and  back  and  swing  opposite  lady  to  place,  till  I 
would  have  given  1,000  shares  paid-up  non-assessable  stock 
in  the  Boomerang  if  I  could  have  been  "  Thad." 

Brignoli,  however,  did  not  enter  into  the  spirit  of  the  thing. 
He  made  me  mad,  and  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Em.  I  would 
have  put  on  my  hat  and  gone  home.  He  looked  like  the 
man  who  first  discovered  and  introduced  Buck  beer  into  the 
country.  She  would  come  and  put  her  sunny  head  up 
against  his  cardigan  jacket  and  put  one  white  arm  on  each 
shoulder  and  sing  like  a  bobolink,  and  tell  him  how  all-fired 
glad  she  was  that  he  was  still  solid.  I  couldn't  help  think- 
ing how  small  a  salary  I  would  be  willing  to  play  "Thad- 
deus "  for,  but  he  stood  there  like  a  basswood  man  with 
Tobias  movement,  and  stuck  his  arms  out  like  a  sore  toe, 


o8  BILL.   NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

and  told  her  in  F  that  he  felt  greatly  honored  by  her  atten- 
tion, and  hoped  some  day  to  be  able  to  retaliate,  or  words 
to  that  effect. 

I  don't  want  any  trouble  with  Brignoli,  of  course,  but  I 
am  confident  I  crfh  lick  him  with  one  hand  tied  behind  me, 
and  although  I  seek  no  quarrel  with  him,  he  knows  my 
post  office  address,  and  I  can  mop  the  North  American 
continent  with  his  remains,  and  don't  you  forget  it. 

After  awhile  the  "  Gypsy  Queen,"  who  is  jealous  of  "Ar- 
line,"  puts  up  a  job  on  her  to  get  her  arrested,  and  she  is 
brought  up  before  her  father,  who  is  a  Justice  of  the  Peace 
for  that  precinct,  and  he  gives  her  $25  and  trimmings,  or 
thirty  days  in  the  Bastile.  By  and  by,  however,  he  catches 
sight  of  her  arm,  and  recognizes  her  by  a  large  red  God- 
dess of  Liberty  tattooed  on  it,  and  he  remits  the  fine  and 
charges  up  the  costs  to  the  county. 

Her  father  wants  her  to  marry  a  newspaper  man  and  live 
in  affluence,  but  "Arline  "  still  hankers  for  "  Thad.,"  and  turns 
her  back  on  the  oriental  magnificence  of  life  with  a 
journalist.  But  "  Thaddeus  "  is  poor.  All  he  seems  to  have  is 
what  he  can  gather  from  the  community  after  office  hours, 
and  the  chickens  begin  to  roost  high  and  he  is  despondent 
apparently.  Just  as  "  Arline  "  is  going  to  marry  the  news- 
paper man,  according  to  the  wishes  of  her  pa,  "  Thaddeus  " 
sails  m  with  an  appointment  as  Notary  Public,  bearing  the 
Governor's  big  seal  upon  it,  and  "Arline"  pitches  into  the  old 
man  and  plays  it  pretty  fine  on  him  till  he  relents  and  she 
marries  "  Thaddeus,"  and  they  go  to  housekeeping  over  on 
the  West  Side,  and  he  makes  a  bushel  of  money  as  Notary 
Public,  and  everybody  sings,  and  the  band  plays,  and  she  is 
his'n,  and  he  is  her'n. 


BILL    NYE    AND    KOOMERANG.  39 

There  is  a  good  deal  of  singing  in  this  opera.  Most 
everybody  sings.     I  like  good  singing  myself. 

Emma  Abbott  certainly  warbles  first-rate,  and  her  love- 
making  takes  me  back  to  the  halcyon  days  when  I  cared 
more  for  the  forbidding  future  of  my  moustache,  and  less  for 
meal-time  than  I  do  now.  But  Brignoli  is  no  singer  accord- 
ing to  my  aesthetic  taste.  He  sings  like  a  man  who  hasn't 
taken  out  his  second  papers  yet,  and  his  stomach  is  too 
large.  It  gets  in  the  way  and  "Arline"  has  to  go  around  it 
and  lean  up  on  his  flank  when  she  wants  to  put  her  head  on 
his  breast. 


A  SUNNY  LITTLE   INCIDENT. 

Thursday  evening,  in  company  with  a  friend,  I  rode  up 
into  the  city  on  the  Rock  Island  train  and  was  agreeably 
surprised  by  seeing  a  Rocky  Mountain  man,  a  few  seats 
ahead,  sitting  with  a  lady  who  seemed  to  be  very  much  in 
love  with  him,  and  he  was  trying  the  best  he  knew  to  out- 
gush  her.  Now  the  gentleman's  wife  was  at  home  in 
Wyoming  in  blissful  ignorance  of  all  this  business  while  he 
was  ostensibly  buying  his  fall  and  winter  stock  of  goods  in 
Chicago. 

The  most  obtuse  observer  could  see  that  the  companion  of 
this  man  was  not  his  wife,  for  she  was  gentle  toward  him, 
and  looked  lovingly  in  his  eyes.  Every  one  in  the  car  laid 
aside  all  other  business  and  watched  the  performance. 

Then  I  whispered  to  my  friend  and  said,  "  That  is  not  the 
wife  of  that  man.  I  can  tell  by  the  way  they  look  into  the 
depths  of  each  other's  eyes  and  ignore  the  other  passengers. 
I'll  bet  ten  dollars  he  has  seven  children  and  a  wife  at  home 


<fO  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

right  now.     Isn't  it  scandalous?" 

"  You  can't  always  tell  that  way,"  said  my  friend.  "  I've 
seen  people  who  had  been  married  twenty  years  who  were 
just  as  loving  and  spooney  as  tha,t." 

He  was  biting  a  little,  so  I  kept  at  him  till  he  put  up  the 
ten  dollars  and  agreed  to  leave  it  with  the  man  himself.  It 
was  taking  an  advantage  of  my  friend,  of  course,  but  he  had 
played  a  miserable  joke  on  me  only  a  few  days  before;  so  I 
covered  the  $10,  and  walking  up  to  the  man  I  slapped  him 
on  the  shoulder  and  said,  "  Hullo,  George.  How  do  you 
think  you  feel?" 

He  looked  around  surprised  and  amazed,  as  I  knew  he 
would  be,  but  he  wouldn't  let  on  that  he  knew  me.  So  I 
slapped  him  on  the  shoulder  again,  and  gurgled  a  low  musi- 
cal laugh  that  welled  up  from  the  merry  depths  of  my  joy- 
ous nature,  and  filled  the  car  full  of  glad  and  child-like 
melody. 

My  friend  came  forward  and  said,  "  Mr.  Van  Horn,  let 
me  make  you  acquainted  with  Mr.  Nye,  of  Wyoming,  who 
lives  in  a  wild  country,  where  every  one  goes  up  to  every 
one  else  and  says,  hello,  George  or  Jim,  no  matter  whether 
he  is  acquainted  or  not.  You  musn't  pay  any  attention  to 
it  at  all ;  he  don't  mean  anything  by  it.     It  is  his  way." 

It  was  Mr.  Van  Horn,  who  had  lived  in  Illinois  for  thirty- 
five  years  and  had  been  married  ten  years  to  the  lady  who 
sat  with  him.  That  evening  my  friend  and  I  went  to 
Hooley's  to  see  Robson  and  Crane,  in  the  "  Comedy  of 
Errors."  The  play  is  supposed  to  be  funny.  Several  peo- 
ple laughed  at  the  performance  at  various  stages,  but  I  did 
not,  for  just  as  I  would  get  to  feeling  comfortable  the  man 
who  sat  next  to  me,  and  who  claimed  to  be  a  friend  of  mine, 
would  lean  over,  and  say: 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  41 

" Hullo,  George;  how  do  you  think  you  feel? "  Then  he 
would  burst  forth  into  the  coarsest  and  most  vulgar  laughter. 
How  few  people  there  are.  in  the  world  who  seem  to  thor- 
oughly understand  the  eternal  fitness  of  things,  and  how 
many  there  are  who  laugh  gaily  on  in  the  presence  of  thosq 
who  suffer  in  silence,  and  with  superhuman  strength  stifle 
their  corroding  woe. 


HE    REWARDED   HER. 

A  noble,  generous-hearted  man  in  Cheyenne  lo*r  -V-*<^ 
on  Saturday,  at  the  Key  City  House,  and  an  honest  cham- 
bermaid found  it  in  his  room.  The  warm  heart  of  the  man 
swelled  with  gratitude,  and  seemed  to  reach  out  after  all 
mankind,  that  he  might  in  some  way  assist  them  with  the 
$250  which  was  lost,  and  was  found  again.  So  he  fell  on 
the  neck  of  the  chambermaid,  and  while  his  tears  took  the 
starch  out  of  her  linen  collar,  he  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket 
and  found  her  a  counterfeit  twenty-five  cent  scrip.  "  Take 
this,'  he  said,  between  his  sobs,  "  virtue  is  its  own  reward. 
Do  not  use  it  unwisely,  but  put  it  into  Laramie  County 
bonds,  where  thieves  cannot  corrupt,  nor  moths  break 
through  and  gnaw  the  corners  off. " 


THE  MODERN  PARLOR  STOVE. 

In  view  of  the  new  and  apparently  complex  improve- 
ments in  heating  stoves,  and  the  difficulty  of  readily 
operating   them   successfully,  a  word   or   two   as  to  the*' 


42  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

correct  management  may  not  be  out  of  place  at  this  time. 
Some  time  since,  having  worn  out  my  old  stove  and 
thrown  it  aside,  I  purchased  a  new  one  called  the  "  Fear- 
fully and  Wonderfully  Maid."  It  had  been  highly  spoken 
of  by  a  friend,  so  I  set  it  up  in  the  parlor,  turned  on  steam, 
threw  the  throttle  wide  open,  and  waited  to  see  how  it 
would  operate.  At  the  first  stroke  of  the  piston  I  saw  that 
something  was  wrong  with  the  reversible  turbine  wheel, 
and  I  heard  a  kind  of  grating  sound,  no  doubt  caused  by  the 
rubbing  of  the  north-east  trunnion  on  the  face  plate  of  the 
ratchet-slide.  Being  utterly  ignorant  of  the  workings  of  the 
stove,  I  attempted  to  remedy  this  trouble  without  first 
reversing  the  boomerang,  and  in  a  few  moments  the  gas 
accumulated  so  rapidly  that  the  cross-head  gave  way,  and 
the  right  ventricle  of  the  buffer-beam  was  blown  higher 
than  Gilroy's  kite,  carrying  with  it  the  saddle-plate,  bull- 
wheel  and  monkey-wrench.  Of  course  it  was  very  careless 
to  overlook  what  the  merest  school-boy  ought  to  know,  for 
not  only  were  all  these  parts  of  the  stove  a  total  wreck,  but 
the  crank-arbor,  walking-beam  and  throat-latch  were 
twisted  out  of  shape,  and  so  mixed  up  with  the  feed-cam, 
tumbling-rod,  thumb-screw,  dial-plate  and  colic  indicator, 
that  I  was  obliged  to  send  for  a  practical  engineer  at  an 
expense  of  $150,  with  board  and  travelling  expenses,  to 
come  and  fix  it  up. 

Now,  there  is  nothing  more  simple  than  the  operation  of 
one  of  these  stoves,  with  the  most  ordinary  common  sense. 
At  first,  before  starting  your  fire,  see  that  the  oblique 
diaphragm  and  eccentric  shaft  are  in  their  true  position; 
then  step  to  the  rear  of  the  stove  and  reverse  the  guide 
plate,  say  three  quarters  of  an  inch,  force  the  stretcher  bar 
forward  and  loosen  the  gang-plank.     After  this  start  your 


H!LL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  43 

fire,  throw  open  the  lemon-squeezer  and  right  oblique 
hydraulic,  see  that  the  tape- worm  pinion  and  Aurora 
Borealis  are  well  oiled,  bring  the  rotary  pitman  forward 
until  it  corresponds  with  the  maintop  mizzen,  let  go  the 
smoke  stack,  horizontal  duodenum,  thorough  brace  and 
breech-pin,  and  as  the  stove  begins  to  get  under  way  you 
can  slide  forward  the  camera;  see  that  the  ramrod  is  in  its 
place,  unscrew  the  cerebellum,  allow  the  water  guage  to 
run  up  to  about  750  in  the  shade,  keep  your  eye  on  the 
usufruct,  and  the  stove  cannot  fail  to  give  satisfaction.  The 
Fc.  r  ully  an  1  Wonder  ully  Mai  1  may  not  be  a  cheap  or 
dir  1  le  stove,  but  for  simplicity  and  beauty  of  execution, 
she  seems  to  excel  and  lay  over,  and  everlastingly  get  away 
with  all  other  stoves,  by  a  very  large  majority. 


REMARKS  TO  ORIGINATORS. 

It  is  the  wild  delight  which  comes  with  the  glad  mo* 
ment  of  discovery,  and  the  feeling  that  he  is  treading  on 
unexplored  ground,  that  thrills  the  genius,  whether  he  be  a 
writer,  a  speaker,  an  inventor  of  electric  light,  or  the  man 
who  firsts  gets  the  idea  for  a  new  style  of  suspender. 

Think  how  Carl  Schurz  must  have  broken  forth  into  a 
grand  piano  voluntary,  when  he  knew  for  a  dead  moral  cer- 
tainty that  he  had  struck  a  new  lead  in  the  Indian  policy. 
It  was  the  sweet  feeling  of  newness,  such  as  we  feel  when 
for  the  first  time  we  put  on  a  new,  rough  flannel  undershirt, 
and  it  occupies  our  attention  all  the  time  and  brings  us  to 
the  scratch. 

Think  how  the  2571  originators  of  "  Beautiful  Snow" 
must  have  felt  when  they  woke  up  in  the  night  and  com- 


44  Bill  nVE  and  boomerang* 

posed  seventeen  or  eighteen  stanzas  of  it  with  the  ffiercury 
at  43  degrees  below  par. 

Think  how  Franklin  must  have  felt  when  he  invented 
electricity  and  knew  that  he  had  at  last  found  something 
that  could  be  used  in  sending  cipher  dispatches  over  the 
country. 

Think  how  Hayes  must  have  danced  the  highland  fling 
around  the  executive  mansion  when  the  first  idea  of  civil 
service  reform  dashed  like  a  sheet  of  lightning  through  his 
brain. 

These  are  only  a  few  isolated  illustrations  of  the  unal- 
loyed joy  of  discovery.  They  go  to  show,  however,  that 
the  true  genius  and  the  true  originator — whether  he  be  sim- 
ply the  first  man  to  work  the  vein  of  an  idea,  or  the  inven- 
tor of  a  patent  safety-pin — is  the  man  who  makes  the  world 
better.  He  is  the  boss.  He  is  the  man  to  whom  we  look 
for  delightful  surprises  and  pleasant  items  of  the  world's 
progress.  Then  do  not  be  discouraged,  ye  who  linger 
alono-  the  worn-out  ruts  where  others  have  travelled.  Brace 
up  and  press  onward.  Perhaps  you  may  invent  a  new 
style  of  spelling,  or  something  unique  in  the  line  of  pro- 
fanity. Do  not  lose  hope.  Hope  on,  hope  ever.  Give 
your  attention  to  the  matter  of  improving  the  average  In- 
dian editorial  Or  if  you  cannot  do  even  this,  go  into  your 
laboratory  and  work  nights  till  you  invent  a  deadly  poison 
that  will  knock  the  immortal  soul  out  of  the  average  bed- 
bug, or  produce  a  frightful  mortality  among  cockroaches,  or 
book  agents,  or  some  other  annoying  insect.  Invent  a 
directory,  or  a  glittering  falsehood,  or  a  napkin-ring,  or  a 
dog-collar,  or  a  cork  screw.  Do  something,  no  matter  how 
small,  for  the  advancement  of  civilization. 


BILL   NYE    AXt)    BOOMERANG.  4.^ 


QUEER. 

An  exchange  says  that  the  people  of  that  locality  were 
considerably  excited  the  other  day  over  a  three-cornered 
aoo-  fi^ht  that  occurred  there.  This  is  not  surprising.  Had 
it  been  simply  a  combat  between  oblong  or  rectangular  dogs, 
or  even  a  short  but  common-place  fight  between  rhombo- 
hedral  or  octagonal  dogs  it  would  not  have  attracted  any  at- 
tention, but  an  engagement  between  triangular  dogs  is 
something  that  calls  forth  our  wonder  and  surprise. 


SIC  SEMPER  GLORIA  HOTJSEPLANT. 

Evidently  it  is  an  ill  wind  that  blows  nobody  good. 
Although  this  severe  weather  froze  up  the  water  barrel  and 
doubles  the  coal  bill,  I  am  filled  with  a  great  large  feeling 
of  gratitude  and    pleasure  this    evening,  for    the    last    pale 
house  plant,  which  for  two  or  three  weeks  has  been  sighing 
for   immortality,    last    night    about    midnight,    got    all    the 
immortality  it    wanted,  and    this    morning    no  doubt   it    is 
blooming  in  the  new  Jerusalem.     I  am  glad  it  will  bloom 
somewhere.     It  never  got  up  steam  enough  to  bloom  here. 
The  head  of  the  house  thought  he  heard  the  rustle  of 
wings  in   the   still   hours   of  night,   and   arising   in   all  the 
voluptuous   sweep   of  his   night   robe,  and  with    the    clear 
white  beams  of  the  winter  moon  lighting  up  the  angles  and 
gothic  architecture  of  his  picturesque  proportions,  he  stepped 
to  the  bedside  of  the  sickly  little  thing  to  ask  if  there  was 
anything  he  could  do,  any  last  words  that  the  little  plant 
would  like  to  have  preserved,  or  anything  of  the  kind,  but 


46  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

it  was  too  late.  John  Frost  had  been  there,  and  touched 
the  little  thing  with  his  icy  finger,  and  all  was  still.  The 
agricultural  editor  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  and  went  back 
to  rest,  neglecting  to  awaken  the  other  members  of  the 
house,  because  he  did  not  want  a  scene. 

Any  one  desiring  a  medium  sized  flower-pot  as  good  as 
new,  can  obtain  one  at  this  office  very  reasonably. 


HOW  TO  TELL. 

For  the  benefit  of  my  readers,  many  of  whom  are  not 
what  might  be  called  practical  newspaper  men  and  women, 
I  will  say  that  if  your  time  is  very  precious,  and  life  is  too 
short  for  you  to  fool  away  your  evenings  reading  local  ad- 
vertisements, and  you  are  at  times  in  grave  doubt  as  to  what 
is  advertisement  and  what  is  news,  just  cast  your  eye  to  the 
bottom  of  the  article,  and  if  there  is  a  foot-note  which  says 
"  ty4-fritu-3dp&wly,  hcolnrm-br-jn7-35tfwly&df-codtf,"  or 
something  of  that  stripe,  you  may  safely  say  that  no  matter 
how  much  confidence  you  may  have  had  in  the  editor  up  to 
that  date,  the  article  with  a  foot-note  of  that  kind  is  pub- 
lished from  a  purely  mercenary  motive,  and  the  editor  may 
or  may  not  endorse  the  sentiments  therein  enunciated. 


BIOGRAPHY  OF    COLOItOW. 

Brigadier-General  Wm.  H.  Colorow  was  born  on 
the  frontier  in  July,  1S24,  of  poor  but  honest  parents.  Earlv 
in  1S43,  he  obtained  the  appointment  to  West  Point  through 
the  influence  of  'his  Congressmen.     While  at  West  Point 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  47 

he  was  the  leader  of  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Associa- 
tion, and  now,  if  the  army  officers  knew  the  grips,  pass- 
words and  signals  of  the  Association,  and  would  use  them, 
much  good  might  be  accomplished  in  bringing  the  General 
to  terms,  as  he  still  respects  the  organization.  But  most  of 
the  army  officers  are  a  little  rusty  in  the  secret  work  of  the 
Y.  M.  C.  A. 

Lieutenant  Colorow,  after  graduating  at  the  head  of  his 
class,  came  west  to  engage  in  the  scalp  trade,  in  which  he 
has  been  very  successful.  "  Colorow's  Great  Oriental  Hair 
Raiser  and  Scalp  Agitator"  is  known  and  respected  all  over 
the  civilized  world. 

He  has  also  held  the  position  of  Master  of  Transportation 
on  the  air  line  route  from  Colorado  to  Kingdom  Come. 
His  promotion  has  been  rapid  and  his  career  has  been  filled 
with  wonderful  incidents. 

General  Colorow  is  not  above  the  medium  height.  He 
wears  his  hair  straight,  and  parted  in  the  middle — a  habit 
he  contracted  while  at  West  Point.  He  sometimes  parts 
the  white  man's  hair  in  the  middle  also.  He  does  it  with 
his  little  hatchet.  He  is  rather  inclined  to  the  brunette  order 
of  architecture,  with  Gothic  nose,  Eastlake  jaws,  and  ears  of 
the  Queen  Anne  style.  His  hair  is  turning  gray  and  his 
face  is  burned  and  specked  with  powder,  caused  by  an  ex- 
plosion which  came  near  terminating  an  eventful  career. 

Brigadier-General  Colorow  owns  considerable  stock  in 
some  of  the  best  North  Park  mines.  Occasionally,  he  goes 
out  to  the  Park  to  see  how  these  mines  are  panning  out. 
Then  the  miners,  out  of  respect  for  his  feelings,  leave  the 
mines  and  come  into  town  to  see  what  is  the  latest  news 
from  the  front.  Some  of  the  miners  have  neglected  to  come 
in  at  times  when  the  General  was  visiting  the  mines.     They 


4$  BILL   tfYfi    AlSTD   BOOMEBAMG. 

are  there  yet*  I  have  a  mine  out  there  but  I  am  getting 
along  first-rate  without  it,  and  I  have  been  thinking  that 
When  the  General  celebrates  his  silver  wedding,  I  will  send 
up  this  mine  to  his  residence,  wrapped  up  in  a  clean  napkin, 
with  his  monogram  worked  on  it. 


DIARY  OF  A  SAUCY  YOUNG  TSlNG. 

It  may  be  wrong  to  publish  the  contents  of  a  diary,  but 
the  following  notes  in  a  new  diary  found  yesterday,  are  too 
good  to  lose: 

Jan.  i,  1S77.  To-day  is  New  Year's  day.  Last  night 
was  Sunday  night.  I  remember  it  distinctly.  George  and 
I  watched  the  old  year  out  and  the  new  year  in.  George 
is  awful  kind-hearted.  He  has  quit  using  tobacco  on  my 
account.     He  hasn't  taken  a  chew  this  year. 

Jan.  3.     I  didn't  get  time  to  write  anything  yesterday. 

Jan.  4.  This  is  Thursday.  Day  after  to-morrow  will  be 
Saturday,  and  the  next  day  will  be  Sunday. 

Jan.  8.  George  was  here  last  evening.  I  found  some 
tobacco  in  his  overcoat.  Can  he  be  deceiving  me?  O  what 
false  hearts  men  have!  We  had  popcorn  last  evening. 
George  and  I  ate  a  milk-pan  full.  He  says  popcorn  seems 
to  supply  a  want  long  felt.  I  don't  know  where  he  heard 
that. 

Jan.  9.  Another  long  week  before  the  blessed  rest  and 
quiet  of  the  Sabbath.  I  met  George  yesterday  near  the  post- 
office,  and  he  didn't  laugh  as  he  once  laughed.  I  wonder 
What  makes  him  so  sad.  Maybe  it's  going  without  tobacco, 
or  perhaps  it's  a  boil.     O  what  a  world  of  woe! 

Jan.  10.     George  is  trying  to  raise  a  moustache.     It  looks 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  49 

like  a  Norwegian's  eyebrow.  It  is  genuine  camel's  hair. 
George's  mother  treats  him  unkindly,  because  he  has  pearl 
powder  on  his  coat  sleeves  Monday  morning.  Four  more 
days  and  the  peace  and  quiet  of  the  Sabbath  will  be  here. 
I  am  a  great  admirer  of  Sunday. 

Jan.  11.     To-day  is  Thursday.     O  pshaw,  I  can't  keep  a 
diary. 


KILLING   OFF  THE  JAMES'  BOYS. 

Now  that  a  terrible  mortality  has  again  broken  out 
among  the  James'  boys,  it  is  but  justice  to  a  family  who 
have  received  so  many  gratuitous  obituary  notices,  to  say 
that  the  James'  boys  are  still  alive  and  enjoying  a  reasonable 
amount  of  health  and  strength. 

Although  the  papers  are  generally  agreed  upon  the  state- 
ment that  they  are  more  or  less  dead,  yet  in  a  few  days  the 
telegraph  will  announce  their  death  again.  They  are  dying 
on  every  hand.  Hardly  a  summer  zephyr  stirs  the  waving 
grass  that  it  does  not  bear  upon  its  wings  the  dying  groan  of 
the  James'  boys.  Every  blast  of  winter  howls  the  re- 
quiem of  a  James'  boy.  James'  boys  have  died  in  Texas 
and  in  Minnesota,  in  New  England  and  on  the  Pacific 
coast.  They  have  been  yielding  up  the  ghost  whenever 
they  had  a  leisure  moment.  They  would  rob  a  bank  or  a 
printing  office,  or  some  other  place  where  wealth  is  known 
to  be  stored,  and  then  they  would  die.  When  business  was 
very  active  one  of  the  brothers  would  stay  at  home  and  at- 
tend to  work  while  the  other  would  go  and  lay  down  his 
life. 

Whenever  the  yellow  fever  let  up  a  little  the  Grim  De- 
U 


50  Bli^    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG 

stroyer  would  go  for  a  James'  boy,  and   send   him  to  his 
long  home. 

The  men  who  have  personally  and  individually  killed  the 
James'  boys  from  time  to  time,  contemplate  holding  a  grand 
mass  meeting  and  forming  a  new  national  party.  This  will 
no  doubt  be  the  governing  party  next  year. 

Let  us  institute  a  reform.  Let  us  ignore  the  death  of 
every  plug  who  claims  to  be  a  James'  boy,  unless  he  iden- 
tifies himself.  Let  us  examine  the  matter  and  see  if  the 
trade  mark  is  on  every  wrapper  or  blown  in  the  bottle, 
before  we  fill  the  air  with  woe  and  bust  the  broad  canopy 
of  heaven  wide  open  with  our  lamentations  over  the  un- 
timely death  of  the  James'  boys.  If  we  succeed  in  standing 
them  off  while  they  live  we  can  afford  to  control  our  grief 
and  silently  battle  with  our  emotions  when  they  are  still  in 
death,  until  we  know  we  are  snorting  and  bellowing  over 
the  correct  corpse. 


A  RELIC. 

The  Hutchinson  family  gave  a  concert  last  evening  at  the 
Methodist  church,  according  to  advertisement,  and  were 
greeted  with  a  fair  house.  The  entertainment  did  not 
awaken  very  loud  applause,  nor  very  much  of  it.  The 
songs  were  not  new.  Man}'  of  them  I  had  almost  forgotten, 
but  they  were  trotted  out  last  evening  and  driven  around 
the  track  in  pretty  fair  time. 

The  fresh  little  quartette  entitled,  "  Tommy,  don't  Go," 
was  brought  forward  during:  the  entertainment.  I  could  see 
that  this  song  has  failed  very  much  since  I  last  met  it.  Its 
teeth  are  falling  out,  and  it  is  getting  very  bald-headed.     It 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  51 

will  probably  make  two  or  three  more  grand  farewell  con- 
certs and  then  it  will  be  found  dead  in  its  bed  some  morninsr 
before  breakfast. 

"  Silver  Threads  Among  the  Gold  "  was  omitted  from  the 
programme. 

The  old  melodeon  that  I  remember  was  rickety  and  out 
of  repair  when  I  was  a  prattling  infant,  was  on  the  stage 
last  evening.  It  is  about  the  size  of  a  mouth  organ,  but  the 
tone  is  not  as  clear.  It  is  getting  wheezy,  and  a  short 
breath  shows  that  it  is  beginning  to  feel  the  infirmities  of 
age.  The  pumping  arrangement  makes  more  noise  than  the 
music,  and  something  is  the  matter  with  the  exhaust  pipe. 
But  when  the  old  man  opened  the  throttle  and  gave  her 
sand,  she  would  make  a  good  deal  of  racket  for  such  a 
little  thing.  After  the  concert  was  over,  Mr.  Hutchinson 
rolled  up  the  melodeon  in  his  pocket  handkerchief  and  took 
it  home. 

Take  the  entertainment  up  one  side  and  down  the  other, 
I  was  not  much  tickled  with  it.  For  those  who  like  to  drift 
back  into  the  musty  centuries  gone  by,  and  shake  hands  with 
the  skeletons  of  forgotten  ages,  it  is  all  right;  but  the  time 
has  come  when  a  troupe  cannot  travel  upon  any  thing  but 
true  merit,  and  the  public  require  that  those  who  ask  for 
money  shall  give  some  kind  of  an  equivalent. 


SOME  REASONS   WHY  I   CAN'T  BE   AN  INDIAN 

AGENT. 

I  see  by  the  Western  press  that  my  name  has  been  sug- 
gested to  the  Secretary  of  the  Interior  as  a  suitable  one  for 
the    appointment    of  Indian    Agent    at  the  Uncompahgrg 


52 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 


Agency  to  succeed  Berry ;  and,  while  I  must  express  my 
grateful  acknowledgment  for  the  apparent  faith  and  child- 
like confidence  reposed  in  me  by  the  people  of  Colorado,  I 
must  gently  but  firmly  decline  the  proffered  distinction. 

In  the  first  place,  my  other  duties  will  not  admit  of  it. 
My  time  is  very  much  occupied  at  present  in  my  journalistic 
work,  and  should  there  be  a  falling  off  in  my  chaste  and 
picturesque  contributions  to  the  press,  the  great  surging 
world  of  literature  would  be  surprised  and  grieved. 

Again,  I  could  not  entirely  lay  aside  this  class  of  work 
anyway,  even  were  I  to  accept  the  position,  and  as  I  cannot 
write  without  being  wrapped  in  the  most  opaque  gloom 
and  perfect  calm  I  would  be  annoyed,  I  know,  by  the 
war-whoops  of  the  savage  when  he  got  to  playing  croquet 
in  the  front  yard,  and  whenever  he  got  to  shooting  at  me 
through  the  window  while  I  was  composing  a  poem,  I  am 
perfectly  positive  that  I  would  get  restless  and  the  "divine 
afflatus  would  cease  to  give  down. 

The  true  poet  loves  seclusion  and  soothing  rest.  That  is 
the  secret  of  his  even  numbers  and  smooth  cadences.  Look 
at  Dryden,  and  Walt  Whitman,  and  Milton,  and  Burns,  and 
the  Sweet  Singer  of  Michigan.  What  could  any  of  them 
have  done  with  the  house  full  of  children  of  the  forest  who 
were  hankering  for  a  fresh  pail  of  gore  for  lunch? 

Further  than  this,  I  have  not  that  gentle  magnetic  power 
over  the  untutored  savage  that  some  have.  I  am  agitated 
all  the  time  by  a  nervous  dread  that  if  I  go  near  him  I  may 
lose  my  self-command  and  kill  him.  I  would  lose  my 
temper  some  day  when  I  felt  irritable,  I'm  afraid,  and  shoot 
into  a  drove  of  them  and  mangle  them  horribly  if  they  re- 
fused to  dig  the  potatoes,  or  got  rebellious  and  wouldn't  do 
the  fall  plowing; 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  53 

Then  I  would  have  to  hunt  up  a  suitable  military  post 
200  or  300  miles  away  and  stay  there  till  the  popular  feeling 
in  the  tribe  had  cooled  down  a  little. 

Then,  again,  the  Utes  would  invite  me  to  attend  the 
regular  social  hops  during  the  winter,  and  I  wouldn't  know 
what  to  do,  for  it  would  be  bad  policy  to  refuse,  and  yet  I 
don't  know  the  first  figure  of  the  war-dance.  I  dance  like 
a  club-footed  camel,  anyway,  and  when  I  got  mixed  up  in 
the  scalp-dance  the  floor-manager  would  get  mad  at  me 
probably,  and  chop  some  large  irregular  notches  in  me  with 
a  broad-ax. 

Then  their  costumes  are  so  low-necked  and  so  exceedingly 
dress,  and  everything  is  so  all-fired  decolette,  whatever  that 
is.  I  would  probably  insist  on  wearing  a  liver-pad  on  a 
chilblain,  and  they  wouldn't  dance  with  me  all  the  evening, 
and  I  would  be  a  wall-flower,  and  they  would  call  me  a 
perfect  dud,  and  would  laugh  at  the  way  my  liver-pad  was 
cut,  and  I  would  go  home  and  cry  myself  to  sleep  over  the 
whole  miserable  affair. 

So  that  perhaps  it  would  be  just  as  well  to  plug  along  as 
I  am  and  not  get  ambitious.  The  life  of  the  ostensible 
humorist  may  not  be  so  fraught  with  untrammeled  nature 
and  sylvan  retreats,  and  wild,  picturesque  canons,  and  bosky 
dells,  and  things  of  that  kind,  but  it  is  cheering  and  comfort- 
ing to  put  your  hand  on  the  top  of  your  head  and  feel  that 
it  is  still  on  deck,  and,  although  wealth  may  not  come  pour- 
ing in  upon  you  in  such  an  irresistible  torrent  as  you  may 
desire,  you  know  that  if  you  can  get  enough  to  eat  from 
day  to  day,  and  dodge  the  Vigilance  Committee  and  the 
celluloid  pie,  you  are  comparatively  safe. 

Besides  all  this,  I  am  afraid  I  am  not  in  proper  spiritual 
shape  to   go  among   the  Indians..    Suppose   that  on  some; 


54 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 


softened,  mellow,  autumnal  day  they  were  all  clustered 
about  me  with  the  bacon  grease  and  war  paint  on  every 
childlike  countenance,  and  while  I  stood  there  in  the  midst 
of  all  the  autumn  splendor  with  the  woods  clothed  in  all  the 
gorgeous  apparel  of  the  deceased  year,  telling  them  of  the 
beauties  of  industry,  and  peace,  and  the  glad  unfettered  life 
of  the  buckwheat  promoter,  or  while  I  read  a  passage  of 
Scripture  to  them  and  was  explaining  it,  and  they  were 
looking  up  into  my  face  with  their  great  fawnlike  eyes,  all 
at  once  one  of  them  should  playfully  shoot  my  wife — all  the 
wife  I  had,  too— or  my  hired  girl!  The  chances  are  about 
even  that  I  would  throw  down  the  Bible  and  fly  into  an 
ungovernable  rage  and  swear,  and  be  just  as  harsh,  and 
rude,  and  unreasonable  as  I  could  be.  Then,  after  I  had 
hammered  the  immortal  soul  out  of  the  entire  tribe,  and  my 
wrath  had  spent  itself,  I  would  probably  bitterly  regret  it 
all. 

O  it's  of  no  use.  I  can't  accept  the  position.  I've  been 
in  the  habit  of  swearing  at  the  spring  poet  and  the  "  con- 
stant reader  "  too  long,  and  I  know  just  as  well  as  any  one 
how  it  unfits  me  for  every  walk  of  life  that  requires  meek- 
ness and  gentle  Christian  forbearance. 


THE  PICNIC  SNOOZER'S  LAMENT. 

Gently  lay  aside  the  picnic, 

For  its  usefulness  is  o'er, 
And  the  winter  style  of  misery 

Stands  and  knocks  upon  your  door* 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  55 

Lariat  the  lonely  oyster 

Drifting  on  some  foreign  shore; 
Zion  needs  him  in  her  business — 

She  can  use  him  o'er  and  o'er. 

Bring  along  the  lonely  oyster, 

With  the  winter  style  of  gloom, 
And  the  supper  for  the  pastor, 

With  its  victims  for  the  tomb. 

Cast  the  pudding  for  the  pastor, 

With  its  double  iron  door; 
It  will  gather  in  the  pastor 

For  the  bright  and  shining  shore. 

Put  away  the  little  picnic 

Till  the  coming  of  the  spring; 
Useless  now  the  swaying  hammock 

And  the  idle  picnic  swing. 

Put  away  the  pickled  spider 

And  the  cold-pressed  picnic  fly, 
And  the  decorated  trousers 

With  their  wealth  of  custard  pie. 


BILLIOUS    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG    IN    THE    GOLD 

MINES. 

Whenever  the  cares  of  life  weigh  too  heavily  upon  me, 
and  the  ennui  which  comes  to  those  who  have  more  wealth 
than  they  know  what  to  do  with  settles  down  upon  me,  and 
I  get  weary  of  civilization,  I  like  to  load  up  my  narrow- 
gauge  mule  Boomerang  and  take  a  trip  into  the  mountains. 
I  call  rny  mule  Boomerang  because  1  never  know  where  he 
is  £omg  to  strike.     He  is  a  perpetual,  surprise  to  me  m  th# 


$6  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

respect.  A  protracted  acquaintance  with  him,  however, 
has  taught  me  to  stand  in  front  of  him  when  I  address  him, 
for  the  recoil  of  Boomerang  is  very  disastrous.  Boomerang 
is  very  much  below  the  medium  height,  with  a  sad,  far- 
away look  in  his  eye.  He  has  an  expression  of  woe  and 
disappointment  and  gloom,  because  life  has  been  to  him  a 
series  of  blasted  hopes  and  shattered  ambitions. 

In  his  youth  he  yearned  to  be  the  trick-mule  of  a  circus, 
and  though  he  fitted  himself  for  that  profession,  he  finds 
himself  in  the  decline  of  life  with  his  bright  anticipations 
nothing  but  a  vast  and  robust  ruin.  About  all  the  relaxa- 
tion he  has  is  to  induce  some  trusting  stranger  to  caress  his 
favorite  chilblain,  and  then  he  kicks  the  confiding  stranger 
so  high  that  he  can  count  the  lamp-posts  on  the  streets  of 
the  New  Jerusalem.  When  Boomerang  and  I  visit  a  min- 
ing camp  the  supplies  of  giant  powder  and  other  combusti- 
bles are  removed  to  some  old  shaft  and  placed  under  a  strong 
guard.  In  one  or  two  instances  where  this  precaution  was 
not  taken  the  site  of  the  camp  is  now  a  desolate,  barren 
waste,  occupied  by  the  prairie-dog  and  the  jack-rabbit. 
When  Boomerang  finds  a  nitro-glycerine  can  in  the  heart 
of  a  flourishing  camp,  and  has  room  to  throw  himself,  he 
can  arrange  a  larger  engagement  for  the  coroner  than  any 
mule  I  ever  saw. 

There  is  a  new  camp  in  the  valley  of  the  Big  Laramie 
River,  near  the  dividing  line  between  Wyoming  and  Colo- 
rado. A  few  weeks  ago  the  murmur  of  the  rapid  river 
down  the  canon  and  the  cheerful  solo  of  the  cayote  alone 
were  heard.  Now  several  hundred  anxious  excited  miners 
are  prospecting  for  gold,  and  the  tent-town  grows  apace. 
Up  and  down  the  sides  of  the  river  and  over  the  side  of  the 
rnbuntain  every  little  way  a  notice  greets  the  eye  announe- 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  57 

ing  that  "the  undersigned  claim  1,500  feet  in  length  by 
300  feet  in  width  upon  "  the  lode  known  as  the  Pauper's 
Dream,  or  the  Blue  Tail  Fly,  or  the  Blind  Tom,  or  the 
Captain  Kidd,  or  the  Pigeon-Toed  Pete,  with  all  the  dips, 
spurs,  angles,  gold  and  silver  bearing  rock  or  earth  therein 
contained. 

I  have  a  claim  further  on  in  the  North  Park  of  Colorado. 
I  have  always  felt  a  little  delicate  about  working  it,  because 
heretofore  several  gentlemen  from  the  Ute  reservation  on 
White  River  have  claimed  it.  They  are  the  same  parties 
who  got  into  a  little  difficulty  with  Agent  Meeker  and  killed 
him.  Of  coarse  these  parties  are  not  bona  jide  citizens  of 
the  United  States,  and  therefore  cannot  hold  my  claim  under 
the  mining  law;  but  I  have  not  as  yet  raised  the  point  with 
them.  Whenever  they  would  go  over  into  the  park  for 
rest  and  recreation,  I  would  respect  their  feelings  and  with- 
draw. I  didn't  know  but  they  might  have  some  private 
business  which  they  did  not  wish  rne  to  overhear,  so  I  came 
away. 

Once  I  came  away  in  the  night.  It  is  cooler  travelling  in 
the  night,  and  does  not  attract  so  much  attention.  Last 
summer  Antelope  and  his  band  came  over  into  the  park  and 
told  the  miners  that  he  would  give  them  "  one  sleep  "  to  get 
out  of  there.  I  told  him  that  I  didn't  care  much  for  sleep 
anyhow,  and  I  would  struggle  along  somehow  till  I  got 
home.  I  told  him  that  my  constitution  would  stand  it  first- 
rate  without  rest,  and  I  felt  as  though  my  business  in  town 
might  be  suffering  in  my  absence.  So  I  went  home.  The 
mine  is  there  yet,  but  I  would  sell  it  very  reasonably — very 
reasonably  indeed.  I  do  not  apprehend  any  trouble  from 
the  Indians,  but  I  have  lost  my  interest  in  mines  to  some  ex- 
tent,    The  Indians  are  not  all  treacherous  and  bloodthirsty 


$8  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

as  some  would   suppose.     Only  the  live  ones  are  that  way. 
Wooden  Indians  are  also  to  be  relied  upon. 

In  digging  an  irrigating  ditch  on  the  Laramie  Plains,  last 
summer,  the  skeleton  of  an  Indian  chief  was  plowed  up.  I 
went  to  look  at  him.  He  had,  no  doubt,  been  dead  many 
years;  but  in  the  dry  alkaline  ^divide,  at  an  elevation  of 
nearly  8,000  feet  above  sea  level,  his  skull  had  been  pre- 
served pretty  well.  I  took  it  in  my  hand  and  looked  it  over 
and  shook  the  sand  out  of  it,  and  convinced  myself  that  life 
was  extinct.  An  Indian  is  not  always  dead  when  he  has 
that  appearance.  I  always  feel  a  little  timid  till  I  see  his 
scapula,  and  rib?,  and  shin  bones  mixed  up  so  that  Gabriel 
would  rather  arrange  a  15  puzzle  than  to  fix  up  an  Indian 
out  of  the  wreck.  Then  I  have  the  most  child-like  faith  and 
confidence  in  him.  When  some  avenging  fate  overtakes  a 
Ute  and  knocks  him  into  pi,  and  thus  makes  a  Piute  out  of 
him,  and  flattens  him  out  like  a  postage  stamp,  and  pulver- 
izes him,  and  runs  him  over  the  amalgator,  and  assays  him 
so  that  he  lies  'in  the  retort  like  a  seidlitz  powder,  then  I 
feci  that  I  can  trust  him.  I  do  not  care  then  how  much  the 
cold  world  may  scoff  at  him.  Prior  to  that  I  am  very 
reserved  and  very  reticent. 

That  is  why  I  presented  my  mine  to  the  Ute  nation  as  a 
slight  token  of  my  respect  and  esteem.  Then  I  went  away. 
I  did  not  hurry  much,  but  I  had  every  inducement  and 
encouragement  to  reach  home  at  the  earliest  possible 
moment,  and  the  result  was  very  gratifying.  Very  much 
so,  indeed.  I  left  my  gun  and  ammunition,  but  it  did  not 
matter.  It  wasn't  a  very  good  gun  anyhow.  I  do  not  need 
:*t.  Any  one  going  into  the  park  this  summer  can  have  it. 
It  is  standing  behind  the  door  of  the  cabin  between  the  pianp 
and  the  whatnot. 


BILL   NYE    AND   BOOMER ANG.  59 

TWO  GREAT  MEN. 

Mr.  Thompson,  Secretary  of  the  Navy,  passed  through 
here  on  his  way  to  San  Francisco  on  Wednesday  evening, 
with  his  party. 

In  company  with  Delegate  Downey,  Judge  Blair  and 
United  States  Marshal  Schnitger,  I  went  into  the  Secretary's 
special   car  and   talked  with  him  while  the    train  stopped 

here. 

The  other  members  of  the  party  did  most  of  the  talking^ 
and  I  eloquently  sat  on  the  back  of  a  chair  and  whistled  a 
few  bars  from  a  little  operatta  that  I  am  having  cast  at  the 
rollino-  mill.  I  am  not  very  hilarious  in  the  presence  of 
crreat  men.  I  am  not  so  much  at  home  in  their  society  as  I 
am  in  my  own  quiet  little  boudoir,  with  one  leg  over  the 
piano,  and  the  other  tangled  up  among  the  $2,500  lace 
curtains  and  Majolica  dogs. 

Bye  and  bye  I  thought  that  I  had  better  show  the  Secre- 
tary that  I  knew  more  than  the  casual  observer  would  sup- 
pose, and  I  said, "  Mr.  Thompson,  how's  your  navy  looking 
this  summer?  Have  you  sheared  your  iron-clad  rams  yet, 
and  if  so,  what  will  the  clip  average  do  you  think?  "  He 
laughed  a  merry,  rippling  laugh,  and  said  if  he  were  at  home 
he  would  swear  that  he  was  in  the  presence  of  the  mental 
giant,  William  G.  Le  Due. 

I  was  very  much  pleased  with  the  Secretary.  This  will 
insure  the  brilliant  success  of  his  Western  trip. 

He  paid  the  Laramie  plains  a  high  compliment;  said  they 
were  greener,  and  the  grass  was  far  superior  to  that  of  any 
part  of  the  country  through  which  he  had  passed.  He  said 
he  was  as  positive  of  Garfield's  election  as  he  was  of  reach- 
ing San  Francisco,  and  chatted  pleasantly  upon  the  general 
topics  of  the  day. 


6b  BILL  NYE   AND   BOOMfcitANG. 

I  could  see  that  he  was  accustomed  to  the  very  best 
society,  for  he  stood  there  in  the  blinding  glare  of  my 
dazzling  beauty,  as  self-possessed  and  cool  as  though  he 
were  at  home  talking  with  Ben  Butler  and  Conkling  and 
Carpenter  and  other  rising  young  men. 

There  is  a  striking  resemblance  between  the  Secretary 
and  myself.  We  are  both  tall  and  slender,  with  roguish 
eyes  and  white  hair.  His,  however,  is  white  from  age,  and 
is  a  kind  of  bluish  white.  Mine  is  white  because  it  never 
had  moral  courage  or  strength  of  character  enough  to  be  any 
other  color.  It  also  has  more  of  a  lemon-colored  tinge  to  it 
than  the  Secretary's  has. 

We  resemble  each  other  in  several  more  respects.  One 
is  that  we  are  both  United  States  officials.  He  is  a  member 
of  the  Cabinet,  and  I  am  a  United  States  Commissioner. 
We  are  both  great  men,  but  I  have  succeeded  better  in 
keeping  it  a  profound  secret  than  he  has. 


DIRTY  MURPHY. 

On  Thursday  a  man  known  by  the  Castillian  nom  de 
plume  of  Dirty  Murphy,  was  engaged  in  digging  out  a 
frozen  water-pipe  in  front  of  the  New  York  House,  when 
the  glowing  inspiration  came  upon  him  that  the  frozen 
earth  could  be  blasted  much  easier  than  it  could  be  dug,  so 
he  drilled  a  hole  down  to  the  pipe  and  put  in  a  shot  pre- 
paratory to  lifting  a  large  portion  of  the  universe  out  by  the 
roots  and  laying  bare  the  foundation's  of  the  earth. 

John  Humpfner,  the  ram-rod  of  the  New  York  House, 
feared  that  the  explosion  might  break  the  large  French 
plate  glass  windows  of  his  palatial  hotel,  and  so  put  a  wasn« 


feiLL  nye  aNd  fcooMEilAtfG.  6l 

tub  over  the  blast.  What  the  exact  notion  of  Mr.  Humpf- 
nerwas  relative  to  the  result  in  this  case",  I  am  unable  to  say, 
but  when  the  roar  of  the  universal  convulsion  had  died 
away,  and  the  result  was  examined  by  Mr.  Humpfner  and 
the  Count  de  Dirty  Murphy,  they  looked  surprised. 

Instead  of  blowing  out  a  large  tract  of  land  and  laying 
bare  the  entire  water  and  gas  system  of  the  city,  the  blast 
blew  out  like  a  sick  fire-cracker  with  a  loose  fuse,  and, 
taking  the  washtub  with  it,  sailed  away  into  the  realms  of 
space.  It  crashed  through  the  milky  way  and  passed  on  in 
its  mad  flight  into  the  boundless  stretch  of  the  unknown. 
Those  who  saw  the  affair  and  had  no  interest  in  the  wash- 
tub,  enjoyed  it  very  much,  but  to  the  incorporators  and 
bondholders  who  held  the  controlling  interest  in  the  tub, 
the  whole  thing  seemed  a  hollow  mockerv  and  a  desolate, 
dreary  waste.  Don  Miguel  de  Dirty  Murphy  swooned  on 
the  spot.  The  hose  has  been  playing  on  him  ever  since,  but 
he  has  not  returned  to  consciousness.  The  later  geological 
formations  have  been  washed  away,  and  it  is  thought  that 
by  working  a  night  shift,  prehistoric  and  volcanic  encrusta- 
tions will  be  removed  so  that  the  pores  may  be  opened  and 
life  and  animation  return,  but  it  is  a  long,  tedious  job,  and 
the  superintending  geologist  is  beginning  to  despair. 


A  ROCKY  MOUNTAIN  SUNSET. 

Speaking  of  the  hours  of  closing  day  reminds  me  that 
we  have  recently  witnessed  some  of  the  most  brilliant  and 
beautiful  sunsets  here  that  I  have  ever  seen.  In  justice  to 
Wyoming,  I  will  say  that  she  certainly  deserves  a  word  for 
the  gorgeous  splendor  of  her  summer  sunset  skies. 


62  bill  uvfi  and  boomerang. 

The  air  is  perfectly  pure,  and  at  that  hour  the  sighing 
zephyr  seems  to  have  sighed  about  all  it  wants  to  and  dies 
away  to  rest.  The  pulse  of  tired  Nature  is  almost  still,  and 
the  luxurious  sense  of  rest  is  upon  the  face  of  the  silent 
world.  The  god  of  day  drops  slowly  down  the  crimson 
west,  as  though  he  reluctantly  bade  adieu  to  the  grassy 
plains  and  rugged  hills.  Anon  the  golden  bars  of  resplen- 
dent light  are  shot  across  the  deep  blue  of  heaven,  the  fleecy 
clouds  are  tipped  and  bordered  with  pale  gold,  while  the 
heavy  billows  of  bronze  are  floating  in  a  mighty  ocean  of 
the  softest  azure.  The  blue  grows  deeper  and  the  gold 
more  dazzling.  The  scarlet  becomes  intensified  and  the 
softened  east  takes  up  the  magnificent  reflection.  The  hills 
and  mountains  are  bathed  in  the  beams  of  this  occidental 
splendor,  and  the  landscape  adorns  itself  in  honor  of  nature's 
most  wonderful  diurnal  spectacle. 

It  is  certainly  the  boss.  These  mountain  sunsets  in  the 
pure,  clear  air  of  Wyoming  and  Colorado,  as  thrilling 
triumphs  of  natural  loveliness,  most  unquestionably  take  the 
cake. 

The  Italian  sunset  is  a  good  fair  average  sunset,  but  the 
admission  is  too  high.  It  also  lacks  expression  and  embon- 
point, whatever  that  may  be. 

May  be  it  is  not  embonpoint  which  it  lacks,  but  it  is  some- 
thing of  that  nature. 

These  beautiful  sights  awake  the  poet's  soul  within  me, 
and  on  one  occasion  I  wrote  a  little  ode  or  apostrophe  to  the 
sunset,  which  was  as  sweet  a  little  thing  as  I  ever  saw  in 
the  English  language,  but  the  taxidermist  spoiled  it.  He 
left  it  out  in  the  hot  sun  while  he  was  stuffing  a  sage  hen, 
and  the  poor  little  thing  seemed  to  wilt  and  retire  from  the 
public  gaze. 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  63 


THE  TEMPERATURE  OF  THE  BUMBLE-BEE. 

A  recent  article  on  bee*  says,  "  If  you  have  noticed  bees 
very  closely,  you  may  have  seen  that  they  are  not  all  alike 
in  size." 

I  have  noticed  bees  very  closely  indeed,  during  my  life. 
In  fact  I  have  several  times  been  thrown  into  immediate 
juxtaposition  with  them,  and  have  had  a  great  many  oppor- 
tunities to  observe  their  waj  s,  and  I  am  free  to  say  that  I 
have  not  been  so  forciblv  struck  with  the  difference  in  their 
size  as  the  noticeable  difference  in  their  temperature. 

I  remember  at  one  time  of  sitting  by  a  hive  watching  the 
habits  of  the  bees,  and  thinking  how  industrious  they  were, 
and  what  a  wide  difference  there  is  between  the  toilsome  life 
of  the  little  insect,  and  the  enervating,  aimless,  idle  and 
luxurious  life  of  the  newspaper  man,  when  an  impulsive 
little  bee  lit  in  my  hair.  He  seemed  to  be  feverish.  Where- 
ever  he  settled  down  he  seemed  to  leave  a  hot  place.  I 
learned  afterward  that  it  was  a  new  kind  of  bee  called  the 
anti-clinker  base-burner  bee. 

O,  yes,  I  have  studied  the  ways  of  the  bee  very  closely. 
He  is  supposed  to  improve  each  shining  hour.  That's  the 
great  objection  I  have  to  him.  The  bee  has  been  thrown 
up  to  me  a  great  deal  during  my  life,  and  the  comparison 
was  not  flattering:.  It  has  been  intimated  that  I  resembled 
the  bee  that  sits  on  the  piazza  of  the  hive  all  summer  and 
picks  his  teeth,  while  the  rest  are  getting  in  honey  and  bees- 
wax for  the  winter  campaign. 


64  Bill  nye  Attn  boomerang. 

DRAWBACKS  OF  PUBLIC!  LIFE. 

I  always  like  to  tell  anything  that  has  the  general  effect 
of  turning  the  laugh  on  me,  because  then  I  know  there  will 
be  no  hard  feelings.  It  is  very  difficult  to  select  any  one 
who  will  stand  publicity  when  that  publicity  is  more  amus- 
ing to  the  average  reader  than  to  the  chief  actor.  Every 
little  while  I  run  out  of  men  who  enjoy  being  written  about 
in  my  chaste  and  cheerful  vein.  Then  I  hate  to  come  for- 
ward and  take  this  position  myself.  It  is  not  egotism,  as 
some  might  suppose.  It  is  unselfishness  and  a  manly  feel- 
ing of  self-sacrifice. 

Last  year  I  consented  to  read  the  Declaration  of  Indepen- 
dence, as  my  share  of  the  programme,  partially  out  of  gal- 
lantry toward  the  Goddess  of  Liberty,  and  partly  to  get  a 
ride  with  the  chaplain  and  orator  of  the  day,  through  the 
principal  streets  behind  the  band.  It  was  a  very  proud 
moment  for  me.  I  felt  as  though  I  was  holding  up  one 
corner  of  the  national  fabric  myself,  and  I  naturally  ex- 
perienced a  pardonable  pride  about  it.  1  sat  in  the  carriage 
with  the  compiled  laws  of  Wyoming  under  my  arm,  and 
looked  like  Daniel  Webster  wrapped  in  a  large  bale  of  holy 
calm.  At  the  grounds  I  found  that  most  everybody  was 
on  the  speakers'  stand,  and  the  audience  was  represented  by 
a  helpless  and  unhappy  minority. 

At  a  Fourth  of  July  celebration  it  is  wonderful  how  many 
great  men  there  are,  and  how  they  swarm  on  the  speakers' 
platform.  Then  there  are  generally  about  thirteen  vener- 
able gentlemen  who  do  not  pretend  to  be  great,  but  they 
cannot  hear  very  well,  so  they  get  on  the  speakers'  stand  to 
hear  the  same  blood-curdling  statements  that  they  have 
heard  for  a  thousand  years.     While  I  was  reading  the  little 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  65 

burst  of  humor  known  as  the  Declaration,  the  staging  gave 
way  under  the  accumulated  weight  of  the  Fourth  Infantry- 
band  and  several  hundred  great  men  who  had  invited  them- 
selves to  sit  on  the  platform.  The  Chaplain  fell  on  top  of 
me,  and  the  orator  of  the  day  on  top  of  him.  A  pitcher  of 
ice  water  tipped  over  on  me,  and  the  water  ran  down  my 
back.  A  piece  of  scantling  and  an  alto  horn  took  me  across 
the  cerebellum,  and  as  often  as  I  tried  to  get  up  and  throw 
off  the  Chaplain  and  orator  of  the  day  and  Fourth  Infantry 
band,  the  greased  pig  which  had  been  shut  up  under  the 
stand  temporarily,  would  run  between  my  legs  and  throw 
me  down  again.  I  never  knew  the  reading  of  the  Declara- 
tion of  Independence  to  have  such  a  telling  effect.  I  went 
home  without  witnessing  the  closing  exercises.  I  did  not 
ride  home  in  the  carriage.  I  told  the  committee  that  some 
poor,  decrepit  old  woman  might  ride  home  in  my  place.  I 
needed  exercise  and  an  opportunity  to  commune  with  my- 
self. 

As  I  walked  home  by  an  unfrequented  way,  I  thought 
of  the  growth  and  grandeur  of  the  republic,  and  how  I  could 
get  rid  of  the  lard  that  had  been  wiped  on  my  clothes  by 
the  oleagineous  pig.  This  year,  when  the  committee  asked 
me  to  read  the  Declaration,  I  said  pleasantly  but  firmly  that 
I  would  probably  be  busy  on  that  day  soaking  my  head, 
and  therefore  would  have  to  decline. 


THE   GLAD,  FREE  LIFE  OF  THE  MINER. 

In  the  spring  the  young  man's  fancy   lightly  turns  to 
thoughts  of  love.     He  also  looks  forward  to  some  means  by 
which  he  can  earn  the  bread  and  oleomargarine  on  which 
*5 


66  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

he  can  subsist.  There  are  several  ways  of  doing;  this. 
Some  take  to  agriculture  and  spend  the  long  days  of  golden 
summer  among  the  clover  blossoms  of  the  meadow,  raking 
hay  and  hornets  into  large  winrows,  while  they  sniff  the 
refreshing  odor  of  the  mignonette  and  the  morning  glory, 
and  the  boiling  soft  soap  and  potato  bugs  that  have  been 
mashed  into  the  sweet  bye-and-bye.  Others,  by  a  straight- 
forward course  become  truthful  newspaper  men  and  amass 
untold  wealth  as  funny  men.  Others  proclaim  the  glad 
news  of  salvation  at  so  much  a  proclaim. 

Perhaps,  however,  the  most  exciting  way  to  become 
wealthy  in  a  speedy  manner  and  in  a  surprising  style  is  that 
of  the  miner.  He  buys  some  bacon,  and  tobacco,  and  flour, 
and  whiskey,  and  a  pick  and  some  chewing  tobacco,  and  a 
shovel  and  some  whiskey,  and  an  axe  and  some  smoking 
tobacco  and  matches,  and  whiskey  and  blankets,  and  giant 
powder,  and  goes  to  the  mountains  to  get  wealthy. 

He  works  all  day  hard,  walking  up  hill  and  down,  across 
ravines  and  rocky  gulches,  weary  but  happy  aud  confident 
till  night  comes  down  upon  him  and  he  goes  home  to  camp, 
and  around  the  fire  he  enters  the  free-for-all  lying  match, 
and  tired  as  he  is  gets  away  with  the  prize  for  scrub-lying. 
I  have  met  miners  who  would  with  a  little  chance  hold  a 
pretty  even  race  against  the  great  stalwart  army  of  journal- 
ists. I  do  not  say  this  intending  to  reflect  upon  the  noble 
profession  of  mining,  for  I  have  been  taught  to  respect  the 
pleasing  lie  which  is  told  in  a  harmless  way,  to  cheer  the 
great  surging  mass  of  humanity  who  get  tired  of  the  same 
old  truths  that  have  been  handed  down  from  generation  to 
generation. 

One  man  who  ran  against  me  for  justice  of  the  peace  two 
years  ago  and  who,  therefore,  got  left,  is  now  independent, 


BILE    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  67 

having  sold  out  a  prospect  in  sight  of  town  for  a  good  figure, 
while  I  plug  along  and  tell  the  truth  and  have  nothing 
under  the  broad  blue  dome  of  heaven  but  $150  per  month 
and  my  virtue.  Of  course  virtue  is  its  own  reward,  but  how 
little  of  glad  unfettered  mirthfulness  it  yields.  Sometimes  I 
wish  I  had  a  little  looser  notions  about  what  is  risrht  and 
what  is  wrong.  But  it  is  too  late  now.  I  have  become  so 
hardened  in  these  upright  ways  that  when  I  do  wrong  it 
pretty  nearly  kills  me. 

This  summer,  however,  I  will  get  me  a  little  blue  jackass 
and  put  a  sawbuck  on  his  back,  and  pack  some  select  oysters 
and  gum-drops,  and  an  upright  piano,  and  a  hammock,  and 
some  sheet  music,  and  a  camera,  and  some  ice  and  frosted 
cake,  and  a  Brussels  carpet,  and  a  tent  on  his  back,  and  I 
will  hie  me  to  the  mines,  join  the  big  stampede,  fall  down 
a  prospect  hole  200  feet  deep,  and  my  faithful  jackass  will 
pull  me  out,  and  I  shall  nearly  freeze  to  death  nights, 
and  starve  to  death  days,  and  I  will  have  lots  of  fun. 

I  like  the  glad,  free  mountain  life.  I  have  tried  it.  Once 
I  went  out  to  the  mountains  and  slept  on  the  lap  of  mother 
earth.  That  is,  I  advertised  to  sleep,  but  I  couldn't  quite 
catch  on.  I  lay  on  my  back  till  two  o'clock,  A.  M.,  look- 
ing up  into  the  clear  blue  ether,  while  the  stars  above  were 
twinkling.  After  they  had  about  twinkled  themselves  out, 
I  concluded  I  would  not  try  to  woo  the  drowsy  god  any 
more.  I  got  up  and  made  a  pint  of  coffee,  and  drank  it  so 
hot  that  the  alimentary  canal  was  rolled  together  like  a  scroll. 
It  felt  as  though  I  had  swallowed  a  large  slice  of  melted 
perdition,  but  it  didn't  warm  me  up  any.  Then  I  went  up 
the  mountain  five  miles  to  see  the  sun  rise.  In  about  four 
hours  it  rose.  So  did  the  coffee  that  I  drank  at  two  o'clock. 
Somehow  the  sunrise  didn't  seem  to  cheer  me.     It  looked 


68  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

murky  and  muddy;  all  nature  seemed  to  be  shrouded  in 
gloom.  There  was  more  gloom  turned  loose  there  than  I 
have  ever  seen.  I  wanted  to  go  home.  I  needed  some  one 
to  pity  me  and  love  me  a  great  deal.  I  needed  rest  and 
entire  change  of  scene.  I  went  away  from  there  because 
the  associations  were  not  pleasant;  roughing  it  doesn't  seem 
to  do  me  the  required  amount  of  good.  I  am  too  frail.  I 
need  more  of  the  comforts  of  civilization,  and  less  wealth  of 
wild,  majestic  scenery.  I  find  that  my  nature  needs  very 
little  awe-inspiring  grandeur,  and  a  good  deal  of  woven  wire 
mattress  and  nutritious,  digestible  food. 


SOME  THOUGHTS   OF  CHILDHOOD. 

Childhood  is  the  glad  springtime  of  life.  It  is  then 
that  the  seeds  of  future  greatness  or  startling  mediocrity  are 

sown. 

If  a  boy  has  marked  out  a  glowing  future  as  an  intel- 
lectual giant,  it  is  during  these  early  years  of  his  growth 
that  he  gets  some  pine  knots  to  burn  in  the  evening,  whereby 
he  can  read  Herbert  Spencer  and  the  Greek  grammar,  so 
that  when  he  is  in  good  society  he  can  say  things  that  no- 
body can  understand.  This  gives  him  an  air  of  mysterious 
greatness  which  soaks  into  those  with  whom  he  comes  in 
contact,  and  makes  them  respectful  and  unhappy  while  in 
his  presence. 

Boys  who  intend  to  be  railroad  men  should  early  begin  to 
look  about  them  for  some  desirable  method  of  expunging 
two  or  three  fingers  and  one  thumb.  Most  bovs  can  do 
this  without  difficulty.  Trying  to  pick  a  card  out  of  a  job 
press  when  it  is  in  operation  is  a  good  way.     Most  job 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  69 

presses  feel  gloomy  and  unhappy  until  they  have  eaten  the 
fingers  off  two  or  three  boys.  Then  they  go  on  with  their 
work  cheerfully  and  even  hilariously. 

Boys  who  intend  to  lead  an  irreproachable  life  and  be 
foremost  in  every  good  word  and  work,  should  take  unusual 
precautions  to  secure  perfect  health  and  longevity.  Good 
boys  never  know  when  they  are  safe.  Statistics  show  that 
the  ratio  of  good  boys  who  die,  compared  to  bad  ones,  is 
simply  appalling. 

There  are  only  thirty-nine  good  boys  left  as  we  go  to 
press,  and  they  are  not  feeling  very  well  either. 

The  bad  ones  are  all  alive  and  very  active. 

The  boy  who  stole  my  coal  shovel  last  spring  and  went 
out  into  the  grave-yard  and  dug  into  a  grave  to  find  Easter 
eggs,  is  the  picture  of  health.  He  ought  to  live  a  long  time 
yet,  for  he  is  in  very  poor  shape  to  be  ushered  in  before  the 
bar  of  judgment. 

When  I  was  a  child  I  was  different  from  other  boys  in 
many  respects.  I  was  always  looking  about  to  see  what 
good  I  could  do.     I  am  that  way  yet. 

If  my  little  brother  wanted  to  go  in  swimming  contrary 
to  orders,  I  was  not  strong  enough  to  prevent  him,  but  I 
would  go  in  with  him  and  save  him  from  a  watery  grave. 
I  went  in  the  water  thousands  of  times  that  way,  and  as  a 
result  he  is  alive  to-day. 

But  he  is  ungrateful.  He  hardly  ever  mentions  it  now, 
but  he  remembers  the  gordian  knots  that  I  tied  in  his  shirts. 
He  speaks  of  them  frequently.  This  shows  the  ingratitude 
and  natural  depravity  of  the  human  heart. 

Ah,  what  recompense  have  wealth  and  position  for  the 
unalloyed  joys  of  childhood,  and  how  gladly  to-day  as  I  sit 
jn  the  midst  of  my  oriental  splendor  and  costly  magnificence, 


yo  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

and  thoughtfully  run  my  fingers  through  my  infrequent 
bangs,  would  I  give  it  all,  wealth,  position  and  fame,  for  one 
balmy,  breezy  day  gathered  from  the  mellow  haze  of  the 
long  ago  when  I  stood  full  knee-deep  in  the  luke-warm 
pool  near  my  suburban  home  in  the  quiet  dell,  and  allowed 
the  yielding  and  soothing  mud  and  meek-eyed  polly  wogs 
to  squirt  up  between  my  dimpled  toes. 


THE  NEW  ADJUSTABLE  CAMPAIGN  SONG. 

I  beg  leave  at  this  time  to  present  to  the  public  a  melo- 
dious gem  of  song  which  I  am  positive  cannot  fail  to  give 
satisfaction. 

It  will  withstand  the  rigors  of  our  mountain  clime  as  well 
as  the  heat  and  moisture  of  a  lower  altitude. 

It  is  purely  unpartisan,  although  it  may  be  easily  changed 
to  any  shade  of  political  opinion.  It  is  cheap,  portable  and 
durable,  and  filled  with  little  pathetic  passages  that  will  add 
greatly  to  the  enthusiasm  of  presidential  contests. 

It  is  true  that  some  harsh  criticism  has  been  called  down 
upon  this  little  chunk  of  crystallized  melody,  as  I  may  be 
pardoned  for  calling  it,  and  it  has  been  suggested  that  it  is 
too  much  fraught  with  a  gentle,  soothing  sense  of  vacuity, 
and  that  there  is  nothing  in  it  particularly  one  way  or  the 
other. 

This  I  admit  to  be  in  a  measure  true.  There  is  nothing 
in  it  as  a  poem,  but  it  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  this  is  not 
a  poem.     It  is  a  campaign  song. 

Campaign  songs  never  have  anything  in  thenr  They 
don't  have  to. 

Editorials  and  speeches  have  to  express  human  ideas  and 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  7 '. 

little  suggestions  of  original  horse  sense,  but  the  campaign 
song  is  generally  distinguished  by  a  wild,  tumultuous  torrent 
of  attenuated  space. 

They  are  like  the  sons  of  great  men — we  do  not  expect 
any  show  of  herculean  intellectual  acumen  from  them. 

Directions. — Set  up  the  song  with  the  feed  bar  down 
and  pitman  reversed.  Then  turn  the  thumbscrew  that  holds 
the  asterisks  in  place,  take  them  out  and  lay  them  away  in 
the  upper  case,  and  in  proper  compartment. 

Next  set  up  desirable  candidate,  unless  you  can  get  candi- 
date to  set  them  up  himself,  slug  the  standing  galley,  oil  the 
cross-head,  upset  the  tripod,  loosen  the  crown  sheet  a  little, 
so  that  the  obvious  duplex  will  work  easily  in  the  lallygag 
eccentric,  and  turn  on  steam. 

Should  the  box  in  which  the  lower  case  candidates  are 
stored  get  hot,  sponge  off  and  lubricate  with  castor  oil,  anti- 
fat  and  borax  in  equal  parts. 

S^p33  Keep  this  song  in  a  cool  place. 

(Air — Rally  Round  the  Flag,  Boys.) 

Oh,  we'll  gather  from  the  hillsides, 

We'll  gather  from  the  glen, 
Shouting  the  battle  cry  of    ....     , 
And  we'll  round  up  our  voters, 
Our  brave  and  trusty  men, 

Shouting  the  battle  cry  of  ...    . 

Chorus. 

Oh,  our  candidate  forever, 

Te  doodle  daddy  a, 
Down  with  old     .     .     .     , 
Turn  a  foodie  diddy  a, 
And  we'll  whoop  de  dooden  do, 

Fal  de  adden  adden  a, 
And  don't  you  never  forget  it. 


72  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

Oh,  we'll  meet  the  craven  foe 

On  the  fall  election  day, 
Shouting  the  battle  cry  of   .     .     .    , 
And  we'll  try  to  let  him  know 
That  we're  going  to  have  our  way, 
Shouting  the  battle  cry  of   .    .    , 

Chorus. 
Oh,  our  candidate  forever,  etc. 

Oh,  we're  the  people's  friends, 
As  all  can  plainly  see, 

Shouting  the  battle  cry  of   ...    , 

And  we'll  whoop  de  dooden  doo, 

With  our  big  majority, 

And  don't  you  never  forget  it. 

Chorus. 
Oh,  our  candidate  forever,  etc. 


SITTING         WN  ON  A  VENERABLE  JOKE. 

Near  St.  Paul,  on  the  Sioux  City  road,  I  met  the  ever- 
present  man  from  Leadville  again. 

I  had  met  him  before  on  every  division  of  every  railroad 
that  I  had  traveled  over,  but  I  nodded  to  him,  and  he  began 
to  tell  me  all  about  Leadville. 

He  saw  that  I  looked  sad,  and  he  cheered  me  up  with  lh> 
tie  prehistoric  jokes  that  an  antiquarian  had  given  hirn. 
years  ago.     Finally  he  said : 

"  Leadville  is  mighty  cold ;  it  has  such  an  allfired  altitude, 
The  summer  is  very  short  and  unreliable,  and  the  winter- 
long  and  severe, 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  73 

"An  old  miner  over  in  California  gulch  got  off  a  pretty 
good  joke  about  the  climate  there.  A  friend  asked  him 
about  the  seasons  at  Leadville,  and  he  said  that  there  they 
had  nine  months  winter  and  three  months  late  in  the  fall." 

Then  he  looked  around  to  see  me  fall  to  pieces  with 
mirth,  but  I  restrained  myself  and  said: 

"  You  will  please  excuse  me  for  not  laughing  at  that  joke. 
I  cannot  do  it.     It  is  too  sacred. 

"Do  you  think  I  would  laugh  at  the  bones  of  the  Pilgrim 
Fathers,  where  are  they?  or  burst  into  wild  hilarity  over 
the  grave  of  Noah  and  his  family  ? 

"No,  sir;  their  age  and  antiquity  protect  them.  That  is 
the  way  with  your  Phoenician  joke. 

"Another  reason  why  I  cannot  laugh  at  it  is  this:  I  am 
not  a  very  easy  and  extemporaneous  laugher,  anyway.  I 
am  generally  shrouded  in  gloom,  especially  when  I  am  in 
hot  pursuit  of  a  wild  and  skittish  joke  for  my  own  use.  It 
takes  a  good,  fair,  average  joke  that  hasn't  been  used  much 
to  make  me  laugh  easy,  and  besides,  I  have  used  up  the 
fund  of  laugh  that  I  had  laid  aside  for  that  particular  joke. 
It  has,  in  fact,  overdrawn.some  now,  and  is  behind. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  intrench  on  the  fund  that  I  have  con- 
cluded to  offer  as  a  purse  for  young  jokes  that  have  never 
made  it  in  three  minutes. 

"  I  want  to  encourage  green  jokes,  too,  that  have  never 
trotted  in  harness  before,  and,  besides,  I  must  insist  on  using 
my  scanty  fund  of  laugh  on  jokes  of  the  nineteenth  century. 
I  have  got  to  draw  the  line  somewhere. 

"  If  I  were  making  a  collection  of  antique  jokes  of  the 
vintage  of  1400  years  B.  C,  or  arranging  and  classifying 
little  bon-mots  of  the  time  of  Cleopatra  or  King  Solomon,  I 
would  give  you  a  handsome  sum  for  this  one  of  yours,  but  I 


74  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

am  just  trying  to  worry  along  and  pay  expenses,  and  trying 
to  be  polite  to  every  one  I  meet,  and  laughing  at  lots  of 
things  that  I  don't  want  to  laugh  at,  and  I  am  going  to  quit 
it. 

"  That  is  why  I  have  met  your  little  witticism  with  cold 
and  heartless  gravity." 


A  HAIRBREADTH   ESCAPE. 

To-day  I  got  shaved  at  a  barber-shop,  where  I  begged 
the  operator  to  kill  me  and  put  me  out  of  my  misery. 

I  have  been  accustomed  to  gentle  care  and  thoughtfulness 
at  home,  and  my  barber  at  Laramie  handles  me  with  the 
utmost  tenderness.  I  was,  therefore,  poorly  prepared  to 
meet  the  man  who  this  morning  filled  my  soul  with  woe. 

I  know  that  I  have  not  deserved  this,  for  while  others 
have  berated  the  poor  barber  and  swore  about  his  bad 
breath  and  never-ending  clatter  and  his  general  heartless- 
ness,  I  have  never  said  anything  that  was  not  filled  with 
child-like  trust  and  hearty  good  will  toward  him. 

I  have  called  the  attention  of  the  public  to  the  fact  that 
sometimes  customers  had  bad  breath  and  were  restless  and 
mean  while  being  operated  on,  and  then  when  they  are  all 
fixed  up  nicely,  they  put  their  hats  on  and  light  a  cigar  and 
hold  up  their  finger  to  the  weary  barber  and  tell  him  that 
they  will  see  him  more  subsequently. 

Now,  however,  I  feel  differently. 

This  barber  no  doubt  had  never  heard  of  me.  He  no 
doubt  thought  I  was  an  ordinary  plug  who  didn't  know 
anything  about  luxury. 

I  shall  mark  a  copy  of  this  paper  and  send  it  to  him. 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  75 

Then  while  he  is  reading  it  I  will  steal  up  behind  him  with 
a  pick  handle  and  kill  him.  I  want  him  to  be  reading  this 
when  I  kill  him,  because  it  will  assist  the  coroner  in  arriv- 
ing at  the  immediate  cause  of  his  death. 

The  first  whiff  I  took  of  this  man's  breath,  I  knew  that 
he  was  rum's  maniac. 

He  had  the  Jim  James  in  an  advanced  stage.  Now,  I 
don't  object  to  being  shaved  by  a  barber  who  is  socially 
drunk,  but  when  the  mad  glitter  of  the  maniac  is  in  his  eye 
and  I  can  see  that  he  is  debating  the  question  of  whether  he 
will  cut  my  head  off  and  let  it  drop  over  the  back  of  the 
chair  or  choke  me  to  death  with  a  lather  brush,  it  makes  me 
nervous  and  fidgetty. 

This  man  made  up  his  mind  three  times  that  he  would 
kill  me,  and  some  one  came  in  just  in  time  to  save  me. 

His  chair  was  near  a  window,  and  there  was  a  hole  in  the 
blind,  so  that  when  he  was  shaving  the  off  side  of  my  face 
he  would  turn  my  head  over  in  such  a  position  that  I  could 
look  up  into  the  middle  of  the  sun.  My  attention  had  never 
before  been  called  to  the  appearance  of  the  sun  as  it  looks 
to  the  naked  eye,  and  I  was  a  good  deal  surprised. 

The  more  I  looked  into  the  very  center  of  the  great  orb 
of  day  the  more  I  was  filled  with  wonder  at  the  might  and 
power  that  could  create  it.  I  began  to  pine  for  death  im- 
mediately, so  that  I  could  be  far  away  among  the  heavenly 
bodies,  and  in  a  land  where  no  barber  with  the  delirium  tri- 
angles can  ever  enter. 

This  barber  held  my  head  down  so  that  the  sun  could 
shine  into  my  darkened  understanding,  until  I  felt  that  my 
brain  had  melted  and  was  floating  around  and  swashing 
about  in  my  skull  like  warm  butter. 

His  hand  was  very  unsteady,  too.     I  lost  faith  in  him  on 


y6  SiLL   NYE    AND   BOOMERANG. 

the  start  when  he  cut  off  a  mole  under  my  chin  and  threw 
it  into  the  spittoon.  I  did  not  care  very  particularly  for  the 
mole,  and  did  not  need  it  particularly,  but  at  the  same  time 
I  had  not  decided  to  take  it  off  at  that  time.  In  fact  I  had 
worn  it  so  long  that  I  had  become  attached  to  it.  It  had 
also  become  attached  to  me. 

That  is  why  I  could  not  restrain  my  tears  when  the  barber 
cut  it  off  and  then  stepped  back  to  the  other  end  of  the  room 
to  see  how  I  looked  without  it. 


MYSELF,  DR.  TALMAGE,  AND  OTHER  DIVINES. 

September  5,  1880. 

I  am  beginning  to-day  to  keep  a  diary.  It  is  not  an 
agreeable  task,  but  I  feel  that  the  wild,  glad  bursts  of  un- 
fettered thought  which  surge  through  my  ponderous  mind 
ought  to  be  embalmed  in  eligible  characters,  and  passed 
down  to  posterity. 

The  thought  may  arise  in  the  mind  of  the  reader  that  this 
is  taking  a  low  and  contemptible  advantage  of  a  posterity 
that  never  in  word  or  deed  ever  harmed  me;  but  I  care  not. 
Other  able  men  have  perpetrated  their  diaries  upon  me 
when  I  was  not  in  a  condition  to  help  myself,  and  now  that 
I  can  hand  down  and  transmit  to  nations  yet  unborn,  the 
same  great  heritage  unimpaired,  there  is  a  sweet  conscious- 
ness of  a  revenge  that  has  been  fully  glutted. 

To  day  I  have  been  to  church.  I  do  not  speak  of  it  as 
remarkable  at  all,  for  wherever  I  am,  whether  at  home  or 
abroad,  my  first  thought  is,  where  will  I  find  a  sanctuary? 

The  minister  was  quite  classical  and  he  pumped  the  con- 
gregation so  full  of  heathen  mythology  that  he  came  very 


BILL    NYE    AXD    BOOMERANG.  77 

near  forgetting  that   he  had   a   word   to  say  on   behalf  of 
Christianity  as  the  advance  agent  of  Zion. 

I  do  not  wish  to  say  one  word  that  would  sound  like 
irreverence  toward  the  cause  which  this  man  undertook  to 
represent;  but  I  want  to  jot  down  a  little  thought  or  two 
relative  to  this  exponent,  so  that  I  may  be  placed  squarely 
upon  the  record. 

I  have  often  thought  when  I  have  watched  this  class  of 
ministers,  with  one  hand  resting  in  a  graceful  and  negligent 
posture  on  the  altar  rail,  while  the  self-conscious  Demos- 
thenes reeled  off  a  4th  of  July  prayer  to  the  miserable, 
wretched  and  undone  sinners  before  him,  how  God  has  said 
that  He  is  a  jealous  God ;  and  I  have  wondered  if  these 
prayers,  arranged  with  great  care  to  meet  the  criticism  of 
the  worshippers,  and  with  an  ofF-hand  disregard  to  the 
feelings  of  the  Almighty  that  is  very  cool  and  very  refresh- 
ing indeed,  whether  they  ever  lay  hold  of  the  throne  of 
grace  or  not,  and  whether  they  ever  lift  up  mankind  or 
make  the  world  better. 

Speaking  of  divines,  reminds  me  of  the  very  pleasant  trip 
I  had  over  the  Union  Pacific  on  my  way  east  with  Brother 
Talmage.  I  call  him  Brother  Talmage  because  he  called 
me  brother  occasionall\\  He  no  doubt  thought  that  in 
different  walks  of  life,  perhaps,  but  working  in  the  same 
direction,  we  were  both  laboring  to  make  the  world  better. 

Brother  Talmage,  General  Crook,  myself  and  two  or 
three  other  eminent  men  together  occupied  the  sleeper 
Boise  City.  Brother  Talmage  and  I  one  day  were  seized 
with  the  same  irresistable  desire,  at  the  same  moment,  to 
change  our  shirtc.  He  was  a  little  nearer  the  wash-room 
than  I  was,  so  he  got  there  first,  and  we  stood  up  together 
smiling  at  each  other  sweetly,  with  a  clean  shirt  in  our 


78  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

hands,  and  didn't  know  exactly  how  to  express  ourselves. 

I  was  the  first  to  speak.  I  told  the  Doctor  that  it  was  of 
no  consequence  particularly,  and  I  would  wait.  He  said  no, 
I  must  not  wait  for  him,  and  insisted  so  cordially  on  my 
coming  in  there  that  we  went  in  together  and  tackled  the 
mysteries  of  our  toilet  at  the  same  time. 

It  was  pretty  tough  on  me,  for  I  had  been  accustomed 
while  peeling  off  a  damp  shirt  to  go  through  a  few  little 
vocal  exercises  and  dance  around  on  one  leg  and  howl. 
Going  from  the  mountains  of  Wyoming  down  into  the 
tropical  heat  of  Nebraska  made  me  perspire  a  good  deal, 
and  nothing  but  the  firm  and  irresistible  restraint  thrown 
about  me  by  an  eminent  divine  kept  me  from  swearing. 

But  the  Doctor  did  not  get  mad.  When  he  shoved  his 
bald  head  into  his  shirt  a  large  smile  was  on  his  face,  and 
when  it  emerged  at  the  tojo  and  he  waved  his  arms  above 
his  head  and  struggled  to  climb  up  into  the  shirt,  so  that  he 
could  look  out  over  the  battlements,  he  was  still  smiling. 
He  was  not  only  smiling,  but  he  was  smiling  a  good  deal. 
Those  who  have  seen  Dr.  Talmaoe  smile  know  now  he 
throws  his  whole  soul  into  it. 

If  I  could  jam  my  head  up  through  a  wilderness  of  shirt 
and  starch  and  saw  off  my  windpipe  as  I  looked  out  over 
the  billowy,  buttonless  mass,  and  still  smile,  as  Dr.  Talmage 
does,  I  would  give  all  my  broad  possessions  in  a  moment. 

This  offer  will  hold  good  up  to  the  15th. 

We  got  quite  sociable  and  cordial  toward  the  close,  and  I 
got  the  Doctor  to  reach  up  as  far  as  he  could  on  my  spinal 
column  and  bring  down  the  refractory  end  of  a  suspender, 
then  I  retaliated  by  going  down  into  his  true  inwardness 
after  a  collar  button  that  had  dropped  into  oblivion. 

While  he  was  smiling  with  that  glad,  free  smile  of  his, 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  79 

which  he  takes  along  with  him  instead  of  baggage,  he  told 
me  a  pretty  good  thing  on  the  editor  of  the  Herald  of  Salt 
Lake.  He  told  it  to  me  in  confidence,  he  said,  because  he 
knew  he  could  rely  on  a  newspaper  man.  Then  he  laughed 
and  seemed  to  think  it  was  a  good  joke. 

It  seems  that  when  Dr.  Talmage  was  in  Salt  Lake,  the 
Tribune  published  what  purported  to  be  an  interview  be- 
tween a  reporter  of  that  paper  and  the  Brooklyn  divine. 

Shortly  afterward,  and  while  Dr.  T.  was  in  San  Fran- 
cisco, he  received  a  letter  from  the  editor  of  the  Herald and 
a  marked  copy  of  the  paper,  giving  the  Doctor  a  very  flat- 
tering notice.  In  his  letter  the  editor  said:  "I  enclose  a 
clipping  from  the  Tribune  purporting  to  be  an  interview 
between  yourself  and  a  reporter  of  that  paper;  will  you  be 
kind  enough  to  write  me  whether  it  is  or  is  not  genuine?" 

The  Doctor  looked  the  clipping  carefully  over,  and  as  it 
was  nothing  but  a  blood-curdling  account  of  the  merits  of 
Day's  Kidney  pad,  he  had  no  hesitancy  in  pronouncing  the 
alleged  interview  a  fraud.  Still  he  never  wrote  the  editor 
of  the  Herald,  and  he  no  doubt  still  wonders  why  it  is  that 
Dr.  Talmage  don't  come  forward  and  state  the  facts,  so  that 
the  Gentile  Tribune  may  be  shown  up. 

The  Doctor  says  that  too  much  care  cannot  be  used  by 
the  editor  who  wields  the  shears  not  to  get  his  editorials 
mixed  up  with  patent  medicine  advertisements. 


FINE-CUT  AS  A  MEANS   OF  GRACE. 

The  amateur  tobacco  chewer  many  times  through  lack 
of  consideration  allows  himself  to  be  forced  into  very  awk- 
ward  and  unpleasant  positions.      As  a  fair  sample  of  the 


So  Sill  nye  And  feooMERANS* 

perils  to  which  the  young  and  inexperienced  masticator  df 
the  weed  is  subjected,  the  following  may  be  given: 

A  few  Sabbaths  ago  a  young  man  who  was  attending 
divine  worship  up  on  Piety  Avenue,  concluded,  as  the  ser- 
mon was  about  one-half  done  and  didn't  seem  to  get  Very 
exciting^  that  he  Would  take  a  chew  of  tobacco.  He  wasn't 
a  handsome  chewer,  and  while  he  was  sliding  the  weed  out 
of  his  pocket  and  getting  it  behind  his  handkerchief  and 
working  it  into  his  mouth,  he  looked  as  though  he  might 
be  robbing  a  blind  woman  of  her  last  copper.  Then  when 
he  got  it  into  his  mouth  and  tried  to  look  pious  and  anxious 
about  the  welfare  of  his  never  dying  soul,  the  chew  in  his 
mouth  felt  as  big  as  a  Magnolia  ham.  Being  new  in  the 
business,  the  salivary  glands  were  so  surprised  that  they 
began  to  secrete  at  a  remarkable  rate.  The  young  man 
got  alarmed.  He  wanted  to  spit.  His  eyes  began  to  hang 
out  on  his  cheek,  and  still  the  salivary  glands  continued  to 
give  down.  He  thought  about  spitting  in  his  handkerchief 
or  his  hat,  but  neither  seemed  to  answer  the  purpose.  He 
was  getting  wild.  He  thought  of  swallowing  it,  but  he 
knew  that  his  stomach  wasn't  large  enough. 

In  his  madness  he  resolved  that  he  would  let  drive  down 
the  aisle  when  the  pastor  looked  the  other  way.  He  waited 
till  the  divine  threw  his  eyes  toward  heaven  and  then  he 
shut  his  eyes  and  turned  loose.  An  old  gentleman  about 
three  pews  down  the  aisle  yawned  at  that  moment  and 
threw  his  open  hand  out  into  the  aisle  in  such  a  manner  as 
to  catch  the  contribution  without  any  loss  to  speak  of.  He 
did  not  put  his  hand  out  for  that  purpose  and  did  not  seem 
to  want  it,  but  he  got  it  all  right. 

He  seemed  to  feel  hurt  about  something.  He  looked 
like  a  man  who  has  suddenly  lost  faith  in  humanity  and  be- 


BILL    XYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  8 1 

Come  soured,  as  it  were.  Some  who  sat  near  him  said  he 
swore.  Anyway,  he  lost  the  thread  of  the  discourse.  That 
part  of  the  sermon  he  now  says  is  a  blank  to  him.  It  is 
several  blanks.  He  called  upon  blank  to  everlastingly 
blank  such  a  blankety  blank  blank,  idiotic  blank  fool  as  the 
young  man  was. 

Meantime  the  young  man  has  quit  the  use  of  tobacco. 
He  did  not  know  at  first  whether  to  swear  off  or  kill  him- 
self. The  other  day  he  said:  "Only  two  weeks  ago  I 
stood  up  and  said  proudly  I  amateur.  To-day,  praise  be  to 
redeeming  grace,  I  am  not  a  chewer."  (This  joke  for  the 
first  few  days  will  have  to  be  watered  very  carefully  and 
wrapped  in  a  California  blanket,  for  it  is  not  strong  at  all. 
However,  if  it  can  be  worked  through  the  cold  weather  it 
is  no  slouch  of  a  joke.) 


THE  WEATHER  AND   SOME   OTHER  THINGS. 

Sometimes  I  wish  that  Wyoming  had  more  vegetation 
and  less  catarrh,  more  bloom  and  summer  and  fragrance 
and  less  Christmas  and  New  Year's  through  the  summer. 

I  like  the  clear,  bracing  air  of  7,500  feet  above  the  civil- 
ized world,  but  I  get  weary  of  putting  on  and  taking  off  my 
buffalo  overcoat  for  meals  all  through  dog  days.  I  yearn 
for  a  land  where  a  man  can  take  off  his  ulster  and  overshoes 
while  he  delivers  a  Fourth  of  July  oration,  without  flying 
into  the  face  of  Providence  and  dying  of  pneumonia. 

Perhaps  I  am  unreasonable,  but  I  can't  help  it.  I  have 
my  own  peculiar  notions,  and  I  am  not  to  blame  for  them. 

As  I  write  these  lines  I  look  out  across  the  wide  sweep 
of  brownish  gray  plains  dotted  here  and  there  with  ranches 
*6 


82  BILL   NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

and  defunct  buffalo  craniums,  and  I  see  shutting  down  over 
the  sides  of  the  abrupt  mountains,  and  meeting  the  foothills, 
a  white  mist  which  melts  into  the  gray  sky.  It  is  a  snow 
storm  in  the  mountains. 

I  saw  this  with  wonder  and  admiration  for  the  first  two 
or  three  million  times.  When  it  became  a  matter  of  daily 
occurrence  as  a  wonder  or  curiosity,  it  was  below  mediocrity. 
Last  July  a  snow  storm  gathered  one  afternoon  and  fell 
among  the  foothills  and  whitened  the  whole  line  to  within 
four  or  five  miles  of  town,  and  it  certainly  was  a  peculiar 
freak  of  nature,  but  it  convinced  me  that  whatever  enter- 
prises I  might  launch  into  here  I  would  not  try  to  raise 
oranges  and  figs  until  the  isothermal  line  should  meet  with 
a  change  of  heart. 

I  have  just  been  reading  Colonel  Downey's  poem.  It  is 
very  good  what  there  is  of  it,  but  somehow  we  lay  aside 
the  Congressional  Record  wishing  that  there  had  been 
more  of  it. 

Just  as  we  get  interested  and  carried  away  with  it,  having 
read  the  first  five  or  six  thousand  words,  it  comes  to  an 
abrupt  termination. 

I  have  often  wished  that  I  could  write  poetry.  It  would 
do  me  a  heap  of  good.  I  would  like  to  write  a  little  book 
of  poems  with  a  blue  cover  and  beveled  edges  and  an  index 
to  it.     It  would  tickle  me  pretty  near  to  death. 

But  I  can't  seem  to  do  it.  When  I  write  a  poem  and  de- 
vote a  good  deal  of  study  and  thought  to  it,  and  get  it  to 
suit  me,  the  great  seething  mass  of  humanity,  regardless  of 
my  feelings,  get  down  on  the  grass  and  yell  and  hoot  and 
kick  up  the  green  sward,  and  whoop  at  the  idea  of  calling 
that  poetry.  It  hurts  me  and  grieves  me,  and  has  a  tendency 
to  sour  my  disposition,  so  that  when  a  really  deserving  poet 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  83 

comes  to  the  front  I  haven't  the  good  nature  and  sweetness 
of  disposition  to  enter  dispassionately  upon  the  subject  and 
say  a  kind  word  where  I  ought  to,  but  I  will  say  of 
Colonel  Downey's  poem  that  it  certainly  has  great  depth 
and  width  and  length,  and  as  you  go  on,  it  seems  to  broaden 
out  and  extend  farther  on  and  cover  more  ground  and  take 
in  more  territory  and  branch  out  and  widen  and  lay  hold  of 
great  tracts  of  thought  and  open  up  new  fields  and  fresh 
pastures  and  make  homestead  claims  and  enter  large  desert 
land  tracts  and  prove  up  under  the  timber  culture  act  and 
the  bounty  land  act  and  throw  open  the  Indian  reservation 
to  settlement. 

The  matter  of  decorating  the  Capitol  with  sacred  subjects 
is  one  which  would  receive  the  hearty  approval  of  all  the 
people  of  the  country,  and  I  often  wish  that  the  Colonel  had 
alluded  to  it  in  his  poem. 

I  have  some  curiosity  to  know  what  his  ideas  are  on  that 
point. 

I,  for  one,  would  be  glad  to  see  appropriate  paintings  of 
scriptural  subjects  decorating  the  walls  of  our  national  capi- 
tol,  and  have  often  been  on  the  verge  of  offering  to  do  it  at 
my  own  expense. 

A  cheerful  painting  to  adorn  the  walls  back  of  the 
Speaker's  desk,  would  be  a  study  by  some  great  artist, 
representing  Sampson  mashing  the  Philistines  with  the  jaw- 
bone of  an  ass. 

It  would  be  historical  and  also  symbolical ;  but  principally 
symbolical. 

Then  another  painting  might  be  executed  representing 
Balaam's  ass  delivering  a  speech  on  the  Indian  question.  It 
would  take  first  rate,  and  when  visitors  from  abroad  made  a 
flying  trip  to  Washington  during  the  summer,  and  missed 


84  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

seeing  Wade  Hampton,  and  felt  disappointed,  they  could  go 
and  see  Balaam's  ass,  and  go  home  with  their  curiosity 
gratified. 

I  have  seen  a  very  spirited  painting  somewhere ;  I  think 
it  was  at  the  Louvre,  or  the  Vatican,  or  Fort  Collins,  by 
either  Michael  Angelo,  or  Raphael,  or  Eli  Perkins,  which 
represented  Joseph  presenting  a  portion  of  his  ulster  over- 
coat to  Potiphar's  wife,  and  lighting  out  for  the  Cairo  and 
Palestine  1 1  o'clock  train,  with  a  great  deal  of  earnestness. 
This  would  be  a  good  painting  to  hang  on  the  walls  of  the 
Capitol,  dedicated  to  Ben  Hill  and  some  other  Congressional 
soiled  doves. 

Then  there  are  some  simpler  subjects  which  might  be 
worked  up  and  hung  in  the  Congressional  nursery  to  please 
the  children  till  the  session  closed  for  the  day,  and  their 
miscellaneous  dads  came  to  carry  them  home. 

I  could  think  of  lots  of  nice  subjects  for  a  painter  to  paint, 
or  a  sculptor  to  sculp,  if  I  were  to  give  my  attention  to  it# 
But  I  haven't  the  time. 


THE   PARABLE  OF  THE  UNJUST  STEWARD. 

Now  there  was  a  certain  rich  man  in  those  days,  who 
kept  a  large  inn  on  the  American  plan. 

And  the  hegira  from  other  lands  over  against  Kabzul  and 
Eder,  and  Breckinridge  and  Kinah,  and  Georgetown  and 
Dimmonah,  and  Kedesh  and  Roaring  Forks,  and  Hador 
and  Ithnan,  and  the  Gunnison  country  and  Ziph,  and  Telem 
and  Silver  Cliff,  Beoloth  and  Hadattah,  and  even  beyond 
Hazar— Gadah  and  Buena  Vista,  was  exceedingly  simul- 
taneot*?; 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  85 

And  throughout  the  country  roundabout  was  there  never 
before  an  hegira  that  seemed  to  hegira  with  the  same  hegira 
with  which  this  hegira  did  hegira. 

And  behold  the  inn  was  overrun  day  by  day  with  pil- 
grims who  journeyed  thither  with  shekels  and  scrip  and 
pieces  of  silver. 

And  the  inn-keeper  said  unto  himself,  "Go  to;"  and  he 
was  very  wroth,  insomuch  that  he  tore  his  beard  and  swore 
a  large,  dark-blue  oath  about  the  size  of  a  man's  hand. 

For  behold  the  inn-keeper  gat  not  the  shekels,  and  he  wist 
not  why  it  was. 

Now,  it  was  so  that  in  the  inn  was  one  Keno-El-Pharo, 
the  steward,  and  he  stood  behind  the  tablets  wherein  the 
pilgrims  did  write  the  names  of  themselves  and  their  wives 
and  their  sons  and  their  daughters. 

And  Keno-El-Pharo  wore  purple  and  fine  linen,  and 
fared  sumptuously  every  day,  and  he  drank  the  wines  of 
one  Mumm,  and  they  were  extra  dry,  and  so  even  was 
Keno-El-Pharo  from  the  rising  of  the  sun  until  the  going 
down  thereof. 

And  behold  one  day  the  inn-keeper  took  a  large  tumble 
even  unto  himself,  and  also  unto  the  racket  of  Keno-El- 
Pharo  the  son  of  Ahaz  Ben  Bunko. 

And  he  said  unto  Keno,  "  Give  an  account  of  thy  steward- 
ship that  tnou  mayest  be  no  longer  steward." 

And  Keno-El-Pharo  cried  with  a  loud  voice  and  wept 
and  fell  down  and  rose  up  and  went  unto  his  place. 

And  he  looked  into  the  mirror,  and  patted  the  soap  lock 
on  his  brow  and  he  saw  that  he  was  fair  to  look  upon. 

But  he  was  exceedingly  sorrowful  and  he  said,  What 
shall  1  do?  for  my  lord  taketh  away  the  stewardship,  and 
rerily  it  was  a  good  thiri^r  to  have. 


86  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

Alas!  I  know  not  what  to  do.  I  cannot  get  a  position  as 
mining  expert,  and  to  beg  I  am  ashamed.  I  am  resolved 
what  I  will  do.  And  he  smiled  unto  himself,  and  the 
breadth  of  the  smile  was  even  six  cubits  from  one  end  there- 
of even  unto  the  other. 

So  he  called  unto  himself  one  of  his  lord's  debtors,  and  he 
said,  How  much  owest  thou  my  lord? 

And  he  said,  Even  for  seven  days  food  and  lodging  at 
$3-5°  Per  day,  together  with  my  reckoning  at  the  bar, 
amounting  to  thirty  pieces  of  silver  of  the  denomination 
known  as  the  dollar  even  of  our  dads. 

And  the  steward  said  unto  him,  Take  thy  bill  quickly  and 
write  fifteen. 

And  it  was  so.  And  he  said  unto  another,  How  much 
owest  thou  my  lord? 

And  he  answered  him  and  said,  fifty  pieces  of  silver. 

And  the  steward  said  unto  him,  take  thy  bill  and  write 
twenty-five. 

And  it  was  so. 

And  behold  these  two  guests  of  the  inn  were  solid  with 
Keno  El-Pharo  from  that  hour. 

And  when  Keno-El-Pharo  received  the  Oriental  grand 
bounce  from  the  inn-keeper,  the  guests  of  the  inn,  to  whom 
Keno  had  shown  mercy,  procured  him  a  pass  over  the  road, 
and  they  whiled  away  the  hours  with  Keno-El-Pharo,  and 
he  did  teach  them  some  pleasant  games;  and  when  the  even 
was  come  he  went  his  way  unto  Kansas  City,  and  they 
with  whom  he  had  abode  wot  not  how  it  was,  for  they  were 
penniless. 

And  Keno-El-Pharo  abode  long  in  the  land  over  against 
St.  Louis,  and  he  was  steward  in  one  of  the  great  inns  for 
many  years,  and  he  wore   good   clothes  day  by  day  and 


BILL   NYE   AND    BOOMERANG.  87 

waxed  fat,  and  he  rested  his  stomach  on  the  counter,  and  he 
said  to  himself,  ha!  ha! 


ODE  TO  SPRING. 

Fantasia  for  the  Bass  Drum;    Adapted  from  the  Germ/ n 
by  Williamj  Von  Nyj. 

In  the  days  of  laughing  spring  time, 

Comes  the  mild-eyed  sorrel  cow, 
With  bald-headed  patches  on  her, 

Poor  and  lousy,  I  allow; 
And  she  waddles  through  your  garden 

O'er  the  radish  beds,  I  trow. 

Then  the  red-nosed,  wild-eyed  orphan, 

With  his  cyclopaediee, 
Hies  him  to  the  rural  districts 

With  mOre  or  less  alacrity. 
And  he  showeth  up  its  merits 

To  the  bright  eternitee. 

How  the  bumble-bee  doth  bumble — 

Bumbling  in  the  fragrant  air, 
Bumbling  with  his  little  bumbler, 

Till  he  climbs  the  golden  stair. 
Then  the  angels  will  provide  him 

With  another  bumbilaire. 


THE  PARABLE  OF  THE  PRODIGAL  SON. 

Now,  there  was  a  certain  man  who  had  two  sons. 
And   the  younger  of  them  said  to  his  father,  "  Father, 
give  me  the  portion  of  goed*  that  falleth  to  me." 


88  BILL   NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

And  he  divided  unto  him  his  living,  and  the  younger  son 
purchased  himself  an  oil  cloth  grip-sack  and  gat  him  out  of 
that  country. 

And  it  came  to  pass  that  he  journeyed  even  unto  Buck- 
skin and  the  land  that  lieth  over  against  Leadville. 

And  when  he  was  come  nigh  unto  the  gates  of  the  city, 
he  heard  music  and  dancing. 

And  he  gat  him  into  that  place,  and  when  he  arose  and 
went  his  way,  a  hireling  at  the  gates  smote  upon  him  with 
a  slung-shot  of  great  potency,  and  the  younger  son  wist  not 
how  it  was. 

Now  in  the  second  watch  of  the  night  he  arose  and  he 
was  alone,  and  the  pieces  of  gold  and  silver  were  gone. 

And  it  was  so. 

And  he  arose  and  sat  down  and  rent  his  clothes  and  threw 
ashes  and  dust  upon  himself. 

And  he  went  and  joined  himself  unto  a  citizen  of  that 
country,  and  he  sent  him  down  into  a  prospect  shaft  for  to 
dig. 

And  he  had  never  before  dug. 

Wherefore,  when  he  spat  upon  his  hands  and  lay  hold  of 
the  long-handled  shovel  wherewith  they  are  wont  to  shovel, 
he  struck  his  elbow  upon  the  wall  of  the  shaft  wherein  he 
stood,  and  he  poured  the  earth  and  the  broken  rocks  over 
against  the  back  of  his  neck. 

And  he  waxed  exceeding  wroth. 

And  he  tried  even  yet  again,  and  behold!  the  handle  or 
the  shovel  became  tangled  between  his  legs,  and  he  filled 
his  ear  nigh  unto  full  of  decomposed  slate  and  the  porphyry 
which  is  in  that  region  round  about. 

And  he  wist  not  why  it  was  so," 


BILL   NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  89 

Now,  after  many  days  the  shovelers  with  their  shovels, 
and  the  pickers  with  their  picks,  and  the  blasters  with  their 
blasts,  and  the  hoisters  with  their  hoists,  banded  themselves 
together  and  each  said  to  his  fellow: 

Go  to!     Let  us  strike.     And  they  stroke. 

And  they  that  strake  were  as  the  sands  of  the  sea  for 
multitude,  and  they  were  terrible  as  an  army  with  banners. 

And  they  blew  upon  the  ram's  horn  and  the  cornet,  and 
sacbut,  and  the  alto  horn,  and  the  flute  and  the  bass  drum. 

Now,  it  came  to  pass  that  the  younger  son  joined  not  with 
them  which  did  strike,  neither  went  he  out  to  his  work,  nor 
on  the  highway,  least  at  any  time  they  that  did  strike  should 
fall  upon  him  and  flatten  him  out,  and  send  him  even  unto 
his  home  packed  in  ice,  which  is  after  the  fashion  of  that 
people. 

And  he  began  to  be  in  want. 

And  he  went  and  joined  himself  unto  a  citizen  of  that 
country ;  and  he  sent  him  into  the  lunch  room  to  feed  tourists. 

And  he  would  fain  have  filled  himself  up  with  the  ada- 
mantine cookie  s  and  the  indestructible  pie  and  vulcanized 
sandwiches  which  the  tourists  did  eat. 

And  no  man  gave  unto  him. 

And  when  he  came  to  himself  he  said,  How  many  hired 
servants  hath  my  father  on  the  farm  with  bread  enough  and 
to  spare,  and  I  perish  with  hunger. 

And  he  resigned  his  position  in  the  lunch  business  and 
arose  and  went  unto  his  father. 

But  when  he  was  yet  a  great  way  off  he  telegraphed  to 
his  father  to  kill  the  old  cow  and  make  merry,  for  behold! 
he  had  struck  it  rich,  and  the  old  man  paid  for  the  telegram. 

Nowj  the  elder  son  was  in  the  north  field  plowing  with  a 


9O  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

pair  of  balky  mules,  and  when  he  came  and  drew  nigh  to 
the  house  he  heard  music  and  dancing. 

And  he  couldn't  seem  to  wot  why  these  things  were  thus. 

And  he  took  the  hired  girl  by  the  ear  and  led  her  away, 
and  asked  her,  Whence  cometh  this  unseemly  hilarity? 

And  she  smote  him  with  the  palm  of  her  hand  and  said : 
"  This  thy  brother  hath  come,  that  was  dead  and  is  alive 
again,"  and  they  began  to  have  a  high  old  time. 

And  the  elder  son  kicked  even  as  the  government  mule 
kicketh,  and  he  was  hot  under  the  collar,  and  he  gathered 
up  an  armful  of  profanity  and  flung  it  in  among  the  guests, 
and  gat  him  up  and  girded  his  loins  and  lit  out. 

And  he  gat  him  to  one  learned  in  the  law,  and  he  replev- 
ied the  entire  ranch  whereon  they  were,  together  with  all 
and  singular  the  hereditaments,  right,  title,  franchise,  estate, 
both  in  law  and  in  equity,  together  with  all  dips,  spurs,  an- 
gles, crooks,  variations,  leads,  veins  of  gold  or  silver  ore, 
mill-sites,  damsites,  flumes,  and  each  and  every  of  them 
firmly  by  these  presents. 

And  it  was  so. 


THE  INDIAN  AND  THE  EVERLASTING  GOSPEL. 

William  Henry  Kersikes,  D.D.,  Philadelphia,  Penn- 
sylvania. Dear  Sir : — Your  esteemed  favor  of  the  25th 
instant,  is  at  hand,  asking  me  to  throw  some  light  upon  a 
few  Indian  conundrums  propounded  by  you. 

I  thank  you  most  heartily  for  the  unfaltering  trust  in  me 
expressed  by  your  letter.  One  of  my  most  serious  difficul- 
ties through  life  has  been  a  growing  tendency  on  the  part 

of  mankind,  to  refuse  to  trust  me  as  I  deserved.     It  has 

« 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  91 

placed  me  in  an  extremely  awkward  position  several  times. 
But  your  letter  is  trust  and  reliance  and  childish  faith  per- 
sonified. 

You  have  done  wisely  in  writing  to  me  for  my  views  on 
this  important  national  question,  and  I  give  them  to  you 
cheerfully  and  even  hilariously.  If  they  were  all  the  views 
I  had  it  would  be  the  same.  I  would  squeeze  along  with- 
out any  rather  than  refuse  you. 

First— \  agree  with  you  in  your  ideas  relative  to  the 
cause  of  failure  on  the  part  of  the  Peace  Commission.  It 
was  not  calculated  to  soothe  the  ruffled  spirits  of  the  hostiles 
and  produce  in  their  breasts  a  feeling  of  rest  and  friendship 
and  repose,  but  it  was  more  in  the  nature  of  an  arrogant  de- 
mand for  those  who  had  in  an  unguarded  moment  snuffed 
out  the  light  of  the  White  river  agent  and  the  employes. 
This  was  not  right  or  even  courteous  on  the  part  of  the 
Commission. 

You  seem  to  understand  the  wants  and  needs  of  the  In- 
dian more  fully  than  any  man  with  whom  I  am  acquainted. 
By  your  letter  I  see  at  a  glance  that  you  are  the  man  to  deal 
with  them.  You  shall  be  agent  at  White  river  here- 
after. I  will  use  my  influence  for  your  appointment.  If 
you  think  I  have  no  influence  with  the  administration  you 
are  exceedingly  off. 

The  emoluments  of  the  office  are  not  large,  but  what  you 
lack  in  money  will  be  made  up  to  you  in  attention.  You 
will  get  tons  and  tons  of  Indian  affection.  For  every  dol- 
lar that  you  would  receive  from  the  government  you  would 
get  eleven  dollars  and  fifty  cents'  worth  of  childlike  trust 
and  clinging  affection.  You  could  also  write  religious  arti- 
cles for  the  Western  press,  and  blow  in  a  good  many  scads 
that  way.      By  working  that  scheme  judiciously  I  have 


gi  BILL   NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

amassed  quite  a  little  fortune  myself.  Your  leisure  time 
could  be  filled  up  by  organizing  Temples  of  Honor,  Subor- 
dinate Granges,  etc.  ;  or  you  could  get  in  an  evening  now 
and  then  playing  a  social  game  of  draw  poker  with  your 
charge.  They  are  all,  you  will  find,  more  interested  in 
"  draw "  than  they  are  in  the  Trinity.  You  can  also  hoe 
potatoes  and  do  good.  If  time  still  hung  heavy  on  your 
hands  you  could  devote  it  to  constructing  a  sheet-iron  roof 
for  your  scalp.  When  the  Utes  came  in  from  the  warpath, 
foot  sore  and  weary,  you  could  go  about  from  lodge  to  lodge 
and  nurse  them  and  read  the  Scriptures  to  them  and  drive 
away  the  blue-tail  fly  and  other  domestic  insects,  and  lull  the 
sufferingf  savaee  to  rest  with  "  Coronation  "  and  other  sooth- 
ing  melodies.     But  I  must  pass  on  to  your  next  question. 

Second — There  have  been  several  methods  proposed  for 
civilizing  the  wandering  tribes  of  the  House  of  Stand-up- 
and-eat-a-raw-dog,  but  few  of  them,  I  fear,  will  meet  with 
your  approval.  My  own  plan  is  called  the  Minnesota  plan. 
It  was  an  experiment  used  on  the  Sioux  nation  at  one  time 
in  its  history,  and  consisted  in  placing  the  Indians  upon  a 
large  elevated  platform,  and  so  arranging  a  fragment  of 
lariat  that  in  case  the  platform  gave  way,  the  lariat  would 
support  the  performer  by  the  neck. 

The  Indian  is  generally  stolid  and  indifferent  to  pain,  but 
you  give  him  a  fall  of  seven  and  a  half  feet,  allowing  him  to 
catch  by  his  neck,  and  it  is  fun  to  see  him  try  to  kick  a  large 
piece  out  of  the  firmament. 

Thejlndian  when  called  on  to  make  the  opening  speech 
at  a  country  fair  does  not  make  any  demonstrations,  but 
place  him  on  one  of  these  sleight-of-hand  scaffolds,  and  let 
the  bottom  drop  out,  and  he  makes  some  of  the  most  pow- 
erful and  expressive  gestures. 


BILL  NYE  and  boomerang.  9$ 

Third — I  am  not  prepared  to  answer  fully  your  third 
question,  as  I  haven't  the  statistics  where  I  can  lay  my  hand 
on  them.  I  think,  however,  that  the  denominations  are 
about  equally  divided  among  the  Indians.  Colorow  is  a 
Presbyterian,  Ouray  is  a  member  of  the  Dutch  Reformed 
Church,  while  Jack  is  a  close  communion  Baptist.  Few  of 
them  are  regular  attendants  upon  divine  worship.  At  some 
of  the  Ute  churches,  I  am  told,  very  frequently  there  are 
not  enough  present  for  a  quorum,  especially  during  the  busy 
season  when  they  are  gathering  the  fall  crops  of  scalps. 

Fourth — As  to  the  time  which  would  be  required  to 
bring  the  entire  outfit  into  the  fold,  I  am  a  little  unsettled  as 
to  the  correct  estimate.  It  might  take  some  time.  The 
roads  might  be  blockaded,  you  know,  or  something  of  that 
kind;  or  some  old  buck  might  stampede  and  take  up  a  good 
deal  of  time.  At  least,  I  would  not  advise  you  to  hold  your 
breath  while  listening  for  their  glad  hallelujahs  to  the  throne. 
They  might  miss  the  connections  in  some  way,  and  you 
would  get  very  purple  around  the  gills. 

However,  do  not  get  discouraged.  Keep  up  your  lick. 
Write  on  and  speak  on  for  this  oppressed  people.  They  de- 
serve it.  They  have  brought  it  on  themselves.  Get  some 
more  dough-faced  idiots  to  unite  with  you  in  writing  up  the 
Indian  question.  It  will  be  a  good  thing.  Write  to  the 
Indians  themselves  personally.  Of  course  it  will  be  a  hor- 
rible death  for  them  to  die,  but  they  have  richly  merited  it. 
Do  not  write  to  me  again,  however.  I  am  not  strong  any- 
way, and  I  need  rest.  If  you  could,  therefore,  direct  your 
remarks  to  the  Utes  themselves,  and  keep  it  up  during  the 
cold  weather  while  they  are  hungry  and  weak,  you  will 
probably  use  up  nearly  all  of  then;.  If  you  will  do  so,  I 
will  see  that  the  people  of  the  West  club  together  and  give 
you  a  nice  gold-headed  cane. 


94  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

THE   MUSE. 

CRITICISM   ON   THE   WORKS    OF    THE    SWEET    SINGER    OF    MICHIGAN. 

Through  the  courtesy  of  a  popular  young  lady  of  Chi- 
cago, who  recognizes  struggling  genius  at  all  times,  I  have 
been  permitted  to  carefully  read  and  enjoy  the  lays  of  the 
sweet  singer  of  Michigan;  and  I  ask  the  reader  to  come 
with  me  a  few  moments  into  the  great  field  of  literature, 
while  we  flit  from  flower  to  flower  on  the  wings  of  the  Muse. 

There  are  few,  indeed,  of  us  who  do  not  love  the  heaven- 
born  music  of  true  poesy.  Hardened,  indeed,  must  he  be 
whose  soul  is  dead  to  the  glad  song  of  the  true  poet,  and  we 
can  but  pity  the  gross,  brutal  nature  which  refuses  to  throb 
and  burn  with  spiritual  fire  lighted  with  coals  from  the  altar 

of  the  gods. 

I  speak  only  for  myself  when  I  say  that  seven  or  eight 

twangs  of  the  lyre  stir  my  impressible  nature  so  that  I  rise 

above  the  cares  and  woes  of  this  earthly  life,  and  I  paw  the 

ground  and  yearn  for  the  unyearnable,  and  howl. 

Julia  A.  Moore,  better  known  as  the  Sweet  Singer  of 

Michigan,  was  born  some  time  previous  to  the  opening  of 

this  chapter,  of  poor  but  honest  parents,  and  although  she 

couldn't  have  custard  pie  and  frosted  cake  every  day  she, 

was  middling  chipper,  as  appears  by  a  little  poem  in  the 

collection,  entitled,  "  The  Author's  Early  Life,"  in  which 

she  says: 

My  heart  was  gay  and  happy : 

This  was  ever  in  my  mind, 

There  is  better  days  a  coming, 

And  I  hope  some  day  to  find 

Myself  capable  of  composing. 

It  was  my  heart's  delight 

To  compose  on  a  sentimental  subject 

If  it  came  in  my  mind  just  right 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  95 

This  would  show  that  the  Muse  was  getting  in  its  work, 
as  I  might  say,  even  while  yet  Julia  was  a  little  nut-brown 
maid  trudging  along  to  school  with  bare  feet  that  looked 
like  the  back  of  a  warty  toad.  In  my  visions  I  see  her  now 
standing  in  front  of  the  teacher's  desk,  soaking  the  first 
three  joints  of  her  thumb  in  her  rosebud  mouth,  and  trying 
to  work  her  off  toe  into  a  knot-hole  in  the  floor,  while  out- 
side, the  turtle-dove  and  the  masculine  Michigan  mule  softly 
coo  to  their  mates. 

A  portrait  of  the  author  appears  on  the  cover  of  the  lit- 
tle volume.  It  is  a  very  striking  face.  There  are  lines  of 
care  about  the  mouth — that  is,  part  way  around  the  mouth. 
They  did  not  reach  all  the  way  around  because  they  didn't 
have  time.  Lines  of  care  are  willing  to  do  anything  that  is 
reasonable,  but  they  can't  reach  around  the  North  Park 
without  getting  fatigued.  These  lines  of  care  and  pain  look 
to  the  student  of  physiognomy  as  though  the  author  had 
lost  a  good  deal  of  sleep  trying  to  compose  obituary  poems. 
The  brow  is  slightly  drawn,  too,  as  though  her  corns  might 
be  hurting  her.  Julia  wears  her  hair  plain,  like  Alfred 
Tennyson  and  Sitting  Bull.  It  hangs  down  her  back  in 
perfect  abandon  and  wild  profusion,  shedding  bear's  oil  ever 
the  collar  of  her  delaine  dress,  regardless  of  expense. 

I  can  not  illustrate  or  describe  the  early  vision  of  dimpled 
loveliness  which  Julia  presented  in  her  childhood,  better 
lhan  by  giving  a  little  gem  from  "  My  Infant  Days:" 

When   I  was  a  little  infant, 

And  I  lay  in  mother's  arms, 
Then  I  felt  the  gentle  pressure 

Of  a  lovins:  mother's  arms. 


96  BILL   NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

"  Go  to  sleep  my  little  baby, 

Go  to  sleep,"  mamma  would  saj'; 

"  O,  will  not  my  little  baby 

Go  to  sleep  for  ma  to-day  ?  " 

When  I  read  this  little  thing  the  other  day  it  broke  me  alt 
up.  It  took  me  back  to  my  childhood  days  when  I  lay  in 
my  little  trundle  bed,  and  was  wakeful,  and  had  a  raging 
thirst,  insomuch  that  I  used  to  want  a  drink  of  water  every 
fifteen  seconds.  Mamma  didn't  ask  if  I  would  "go  to  sleep 
for  ma,  to-day."  She  used  to  turn  the  bed-clothes  back  over 
the  footboard,  so  that  she  could  have  plenty  of  sea  room,  and 
then  she  would  take  an  old  sewing-machine  belt,  and  it 
would  sigh  through  the  agitated  air  for  a  few  moments 
pretty  plenty,  till  the  writer  of  these  lines  would  conclude  to 
sob  himself  to  sleep,  and  anon  through  the  night  he  would 
dream  that  he  had  backed  up  against  the  Hill  Smei*:':;~ 
works.  That's  the  kind  of  "  Go  to  sleep  for  ma  to-day," 
that  comes  up  vividly  to  my  mind. 

But  I  must  give  another  stanza  or  two  from  Julia's  col- 
lection— as  showing  how  this  gifted  writer  can  with  a  word 
dispel  the  chilling  temperature  of  December,  and  run  the 
thermometer  up  to  100  degrees  in  the  shade.  I  will  quote 
from  the  death  of  "  Little  Henry : " 

It  was  on  the  eleventh  of  December, 

On  a  cold  and  windy  day, 
Just  at  the  close  of  evening, 

When  the  sunlight  fades  away, 
Little  Henry  he  was  dying, 

In  his  little  crib  he  lay, 
With  the  soft  winds  around  him  sighing, 

From  early  morn  till  close  of  day. 


BILL   NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  97 

One  of  Julia's  poems  opens  out  in  such  a  cheerful,  pleasant 
way,  that  I  wish  I  could  give  it  all,  but  space  forbids.  Shtf 
tunes  her  lyre  so  that  it  will  mash  all  right,  and  then  says: 

Come  all  kind  friends,  both  far  and  near, 
O,  come,  and  see  what  you  can  hear. 

Then  she  proceeds  to  slaughter  some  one.  In  looking 
over  her  poems  one  is  struck  with  the  terrible  mortality 
which  they  show.  Julia  is  worse  than  a  Gatling  gun.  I 
have  counted  twenty-one  killed  and  nine  wounded,  in  the 
small  volume  which  she  has  given  to  the  public.  In  giving 
the  circumstances  which  attended  the  death  of  one  of  her 
subjects,  and  the  economical  principles  of  the  deceased,  she 
says: 

And  he  was  sick  and  very  bad, 

Poor  boy,  he  thought,  no  doubt, 
If  he  came  home  in  a  smoking  car 

His  money  would  hold  out. 
He  started  to  come  back  alone, 

He  came  one-third  the  way. 
One  evening,  in  the  car  alone, 

His  spirit  fled  away. 

That's  the  way  Julia  kills  off  a  young  man  just  as  we  get 
interested  in  him.  You  just  begin  to  like  one  of  her  heroes 
or  heroines  and  Julia  proceeds  to  lay  said  hero  or  heroine 
out  colder  than  a  wedge.  A  sad,  sad  thing,  which  goes  to 
the  tune  of  Belle  Mahone,  starts  out  as  follows : 

"  Once  there  lived  a  lady  fair, 
With  black  eyes  and  curly  hair; 
She  has  left  this  world  of  care, 
Sweet  Carrie  Monroe." 

♦7 


98  BILL  NYE   AND   BOOMERANG. 


To  which  I  have  added  in  my  poor  weak  way — 

She  could  not  her  sorrows  bear, 
For  she  was  a  dumpling  rare; 
She  has  clum  the  golden  stair, 
Sweet  Carrie  Monroe. 

'Twas  indeed  a  day  of  gloom 
When  we  gathered  in  her  room, 
While  she  cantered  up  the  flume, 
Sweet  Carrie  Monroe. 

I  will  give  but  one  more  example  of  Julia's  exquisite 
word  painting,  and  then  after  a  word  or  two  relative  to  her 
style  generally  I  will  close. 

After  speaking  tearfully  of  her  life  as  a  child,  she  says: 

My  childhood  days  have  passed  and  gone, 

And  it  fills  my  heart  with  pain, 
To  think  that  youth  will  never  more 

Return  to  me  again. 
And  now,  kind  friends,  wh?.t  I  have  wrote 

I  hope  you  will  pass  o'er, 
And  not  criticise,  as  £ome  have  done, 

Hitherto  herebefore. 

I  know  that  it  ill  becomes  me  to  assume  the  prerogative 
of  criticising  a  poet's  style  or  even  to  suggest  any  improve- 
ments, but  sometimes  an  outsider  may  be  able  to  stand  off 
as  it  were  and  see  little  defects  in  a  masterpiece  which  the 
author  can  not  see. 

My  idea  would  be  to  take  these  poems  and  remove  the 
crown  sheet,  then  put  in  new  running  gear,  upset  and  bush 
the  pitman,  kalsomine  the  boiler  plate,  drill  new  holes  in  the 
eccentric,  rim  out  the  gas  pipe,  raise  the  posterior  eccentric 


BILE    NYE    AXD    BOOMERANG.  99 

to  a  level  with  the  gang1  plank,  slide  the  ash  pan  forward  of 
the  monkey  wrench,  securing  it  by  draw  bars  to  the  top- 
gallant mizzen.  Then,  throwing  open  the  condenser  and 
allowing  the  cerebellum  to  rest  firmly  against  the  vicarious 
w  hippety-whop,  fair  time  may  be  made  on  a  gentle  grade. 

If  I  were  to  suggest  anything  further  it  would  be  that 
Ji  lia  have  entire  change  of  air  and  surroundings.  Michigan 
is  too  healthy  for  an  ambitious  obituary  poet.  She  naturally 
h.'is  too  much  time  on  her  hands.  Let  her  go  into  the  yellow 
fever  districts  next  summer,  where  she  can  work  in  two  or 
three  of  her  cheerful  little  funeral  odes  every  morning 
before  breakfast.  That's  the  place  for  her.  It  may  kill  her, 
but  if  it  should  we  will  trust  in  Providence  to  raise  up  some 
inspired  idiot  to  take  her  place.  We  will  struggle  along 
anyway  with  George  Francis  Train  and  Denis  Kearney  and 
Dr.  Mary  Walker,  even  if  Julia  joins  the  glad  throng  of 
poets  who  let  their  hair  grow  long  and  kick  up  their  heels 
in  the  green  fields  of  Eden. 

One  more  suggestion  which  will,  I  know,  be  accepted  as 
coming  from  one  who  never  says  anything  but  in  the  kind- 
est spirit.  I  think  that  Julia  takes  advantage  of  her  poetic 
license.  A  poetic  license,  as  I  understand  it,  simply  allows 
the  poet  to  jump  the  15  over  the  14m  order  to  bring  in  the 
proper  rhyme,  but  it  does  not  allow  the  writer  to  usurp  the 
management  of  the  entire  system  of  worlds,  and  introduce 
dog-days  and  ice-cream  between  Christmas  and  New  Year. 
It  does  not  in  any  way  allow  the  contractor  of  prize  funeral 
puffs  to  sandwich  a  tropical  evening  with  the  scent  of  orange 
blossom  and  mignonette,  in  between  two  December  days  in 
Michigan,  that  would  freeze  the  lightning  rods  off  the 
houses,  and  when  the  owners  of  cast  iron  dogs  have  to 
bring  them  in,  and  stand  them  behind  the  parlor  stove. 


IOO  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

Julia  can't  fool  me  much  on  a  Michigan  winter.  When 
the  seductive  breath  from  the  north  comes  soughing  across 
Lake  Superior,  redolent  with  the  blossom  rock  of  the  copper 
mines,  and  dead  cranberry  vines,  and  slippery  elm  bark,  the 
poet  or  poetess  who  could  maliciously  crawl  into  a  buffalo 
overcoat,  and  write  a  dirge  that  worked  in  "  sighing  soft 
winds,"  just  for  the  benefit  of  one  whose  spirit  is  in  a  land 
where  house  plants  never  freeze,  should  have  no  poetic 
license.  I  would  be  in  favor  of  having  such  license  revoked, 
or  raising  the  price  so  high  that  none  but  good,  reliable, 
square  toed  poets  could  practice.  I  would  suggest  $500  per 
year  for  poets  driving  one  horse,  and  dealing  in  native  poems 
on  death,  spring,  beautiful  snow,  etc.,  etc.;  $1,000  per  year 
for  two  horse,  platform  spring  poets,  retailers  of  imported 
poems;  and  $1,500  per  year  for  jx>ets  who  do  a  general 
business  in  manufactured  Havana  poems,  or  native  wrap- 
pers with  Havana  fillers. 

We  have  too  many  poets  in  our  glorious  republic  who 
ought  to  be  peeling  the  epidermis  off  a  bull  train;  and  too 
many  poetesses  who  would  succeed  better  boiling  soap- 
grease,  or  spiking  a  6  x  8  patch  on  the  quarter-deck  of  a 
faithful  husband's  overalls. 

I  do  not  refer  entirely  to  Julia  in  the  last  few  lines,  for 
Julia  is  not  deserving  of  such  criticism.  She  was  never 
intended  to  do  the  drudgery  of  housework.  She  is  too  frail. 
She  couldn't  cook,  because  her  cake  would  be  sad,  and  her 
soft,  wavy  hair,  like  the  mane  of  a  Cayuse  plug,  would  get 
in  the  cod-fish  balls,  and  cling  to  the  butter. 

No,  Julia,  you  don't  look  like  a  woman  whose  career  as 
a  housewife  would  be  a  success.  From  the  mournful  look 
in  your  limpid  eye,  I  would  say  that  your  lignum- vitoe  bread, 
and  celluloid  custard  pie,  and  indestructible  waffles,  and  fire- 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  IOI 

proof  pancakes,  and  burglar-proof  chicken  pie,  would  give 
you  away.  Your  mind  would  be  far  away  in  the  poet's 
realm,  and  you  would  put  shoe  blacking  in  the  blanc  mange, 
and  silver  gloss  starch  in  the  tea,  and  cod  liver  oil  in  the 
sponge  cake.  So,  Julia,  you  may  continue  right  along  as 
you  Ire  doing.  It  don't  do  much  harm,  and  no  doubt  it 
does  you  a  heap  of  good. 


SHOEING  A  BRONCO. 

Recently  I  have  taken  a  little  recreation  when  I  felt 
despondent,  by  witnessing  the  difficult  and  dangerous  feat  of 
shoeing  a  bronco. 

Whenever  I  get  low  spirited  and  feel  that  a  critical  public 
don't  appreciate  my  wonderful  genius  as  a  spring  poet,  I 
go  around  to  Brown  &  Poole's  blacksmith  shop  on  A  street, 
and  watch  them  shoe  a  vicious  bronco.  I  always  go  back 
to  the  office  cheered  and  soothed,  and  better  prepared  to 
fight  the  battle  of  life. 

They  have  a  new  rig  now  for  this  purpose.  It  consists 
of  two  broad  sinches,  which  together  cover  the  thorax  and 
abdomen  of  the  bronco,  to  the  ends  of  which- the  sinches, 
I  mean— are  attached  ropes,  four  in  number,  which  each 
pass  over  a  pulley  above  the  animal,  and  then  are  wrapped 
about  a  windlass.  The  bronco  is  led  to  the  proper  position, 
like  a  young  man  who  is  going  to  have  a  photograph  taken, 
the  sinches  slipped  under  his  body  and  attached  to  the  ropes. 

Then  the  man  at  the  wheel  makes  two  or  three  turns  in 
rapid  succession. 

The  bronco  is  seen  to  hump  himself,  like  the  boss  camel 
of  the  grand  aggregation  of  living  wonders.     He  grunts  a 


103 


BILL    NYE    AND    ROOMER  ANG. 


<r; 


good  deal  and  switches  his  tail,  while  the  ropes  continue  to 
work  in  the  pulleys  and  the  man  at  the  capstan  spits  on  his 
hands  and  rolls  up  on  the  wheel.  After  a  while  the  hronco 
hangs  from  the  ceiling  like  a  discouraged  dish  rag,  and  after 
trying  for  two  or  three    hundred   times  unsuccessfully  to 

kick  a  hole 
in  the  starry 
fi  r  m  a  m  en  t, 
he  yields  and 
hangs  at  half 
mast  w  h  i  1  e 
the  black- 
smith  shoes 
him. 

Yesterday 
I     felt     as 


V  P 


SHOEING    A    BRONCO. 


though  I  must  see  something  cheerful,  and  so  I  went  over 
to  watch  a  bronco  getting  his  shoes  on  for  the  round-up.  I  was 
fortunate.  They  led  up  a  quiet,  gentlemanly  appearing 
plug  with  all  the  weary,  despondent  air  of  a  disappointed 
hronco  who  has  had  aspirations  for  being  a  circus  horse,  and 
has  "got  left."  When  they  put  the  sinches  around  him  he 
sighed  as  though  his  heart  would  break,  and  his  great,  soul- 
ful eyes  were  wet  with  tears.  One  man  said  it  was  a  shame 
to  put  a  gentle  pony  into  a  sling  like  that  in  order  to  shoe 
him,  and  the  general  feeling  seemed  to  be  that  a  great 
wrong  was  being  perpetrated. 

Gradually  the  ropes  tightened  on  him  and  his  abdomen 
began  to  disappear.  He  rose  till  he  looked  like  a  dead  dog 
that  had  been  fished  out  of  the  river  with  a  grappling  iron. 
Then  he  gave  a  grunt  that  shook  the  walls  of  the  firma- 
ment, and  he  reached  out  about  five  yards  till  his  hind  feet  felt 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  IO3 

of  a  Greaser's  eye,  and  with  an  athletic  movement  he 
jumped  through  the  sling  and  lit  on  the  blacksmith's  forge 
with  his  head  about  three  feet  up  the  chimney.  He  pro- 
ceeded then  to  do  some  extra  ground  and  lofty  tumbling  and 
kicking.  A  large  anvil  was  held  up  for  him  to  kick  till  he 
tired  himself  out,  and  then  the  blacksmith  put  a  fire  and 
burglar  proof  safe  over  his  head  and  shod  him. 

The  bronco  is  full  of  spirit,  and,  although  docile  under 
ordinary  circumstances,  he  will  at  times  get  enthusiastic  and 
do  things  which  he  afterwards,  in  his  sober  moments, 
bitterly  regrets. 

Some  broncos  have  formed  the  habit  of  bucking.  They 
do  not  all  buck.  Only  those  that  are  alive  do  so.  When 
they  are  dead  they  are  more  subdued  and  gentle. 

A  bronco  often  becomes  so  attached  to  his  master  that  he 
will  lay  down  his  life  if  necessary.  His  master's  life,  I 
mean. 

When  a  bronco  comes  up  to  me  and  lays  his  head  over 
my  shoulder,  and  asks  me  to  scratch  his  chilblain  for  him,  I 
always  excuse  myself  on  the  ground  that  I  have  a  family 
dependent  on  me,  and  furthermore,  that  I  am  a  United 
States  Commissioner,  and  to  a  certain  extent  the  government 
hincres  on  me. 

Think  what  a  ghastly  hole  there  would  be  in  the  official 
staff  of  the  republic  if  I  were  launched  into  eternity  now, 
when  gfood  men  are  so  scarce. 

Some  days  I  worry  a  good  deal  over  this  question.  Sup- 
pose that  some  unprincipled  political  enemy  who  wanted  to 
be  United  States  Commissioner  or  Notary  Public  in  my 
place  should  assassinate  me!!! 

Lots  of  people  never  see  this.  They  see  how  smoothly  the 
machinery  of  government  moves  along,  and  they  do    not 


104  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

dream  of  possible  harm.  They  do  not  know  how  quick  she 
might  slip  a  cog,  or  the  eccentric  get  jammed  through  the 
indicator,  if,  some  evening  when  I  am  at  the  opera  house,  or 
the  minstrel  show,  the  assassin  should  steal  up  on  me,  and 
shoot  a  large,  irregular  aperture  into  my  cerrebellum. 

This  may  not  happen,  of  course;  but  I  suggest  it,  so  that 
the  public  will,  as  it  were,  throw  its  protecting  arms  about 
me,  and  not  neglect  me  while  I  am  alive. 


PUMPKIN  JIM  ;    OR  THE  TALE  OF  A  BUSTED 
JACKASS  BABBIT. 

CHAPTER  I. 

PUMPKIN     JIM. 

It  was  evening  in  the  mountains.  The  golden  god  of 
day  was  gliding  slowly  adown  the  crimson  west.  Here 
and  there  the  cerulean  dome  was  flecked  with  snowy  clouds. 

The  flecks  were  visible  to  the  naked  eye. 

Meanwhile  the  golden  god  of  day,  hereinbefore  referred 
to,  continued  to  glide  adown  the  crimson  west,  with  about 
the  same  symmetrical  glide.  It  had  done  so  on  several 
occasions  previous  to  the  opening  of  this  story. 

The  katydid  was  singing  sleepily  in  the  long  grass,  and 
the  grizzly  bear  was  trilling  between  eleven  trills  on  the 
6till  air. 

It  was  a  spot  where  the  foot  of  man  had  never  trod,  and 
the  undisturbed  temple  of  nature  with  its  hallowed  hush  and 
never  ending  repose.  The  lofty  pines  were  swaying  softly 
to  and  fro  in  the  gentle  breeze  of  evening,  and  the  babbling 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  IO5 

brook  went  babbling  along  down  its  rocky  bed  in  the  bot- 
tom of  the  canon,  with  a  merry  bab. 

All  at  once,  like  a  flash  of  dazzling  light,  a  noble  youth 
came  slowly  down  the  mountain  side,  riding  an  ambling 
palfrey  of  the  narrow-guage  variety,  with  a  paint-brush  tail 
on  him — (that  is  the  palfrey,  of  course.)  The  palfrey  was  a 
delicate  buckskin  color,  with  high,  intellectual  ears  and 
Roman  nose. 

In  crossing  the  stream  the  palfrey  stubbed  his  toe,  and  fell 
on  his  noble  rider,  breaking  the  man's  leg  in  three  places, 
and  jamming  one  of  his  ribs  through  the  liver  and  into  the 
ground,  thus  pinning  him  to  the  earth,  and  preventing  him 
from  rising. 

The  buckskin  palfrey,  with  almost  human  foresight,  and 
wonderful  intelligence,  found  a  soft  place  in  the  grassy 
bottom,  and  lay  down. 

There,  in  the  slanting  rays  of  the  declining  sun,  and 
stretched  out  upon  the  sedgy  brink  of  the  clear  mountain 
stream,  far  from  the  reach  of  man  and  miles  beyond  the 
outer  line  of  civilization,  lay  Pumpkin  Jim,  the  Yipping, 
Yelling  Yahoo  of  Dirty  Woman's  Ranch. 

He  lay  there  partially  submerged  in  the  stream  and  par- 
tially in  the  clear,  bracing  atmosphere.  Wild-eyed  and 
beautiful  he  lay  there,  looking  up  into  the  glad  realms  of 
space,  with  that  murderous  glitter  in  his  eye  that  wins  a 
woman's  love,  and  the  sympathy  of  kind  hearted  phi- 
lanthropists. 

Occasionally  he  would  raise  his  broken  limb  and  try  to 
use  it,  but  it  generally  wilted  and  drooped  like  the  leg  of  a 
rag  doll. 

Then  he  would  struggle  to  raise  himself  up  and  drag  his 
body  out  upon  the  bank,  byt  the  broken  rib  would  tear  out 


Iq6  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

large  chunks  of  his  liver,  and  make  him  feel  wretched  ?nd 
unhappy. 

"  Curses  upon  thee,  thou  base  and  treacherous  mule!"  he 
murmured,  brokenly.  "  By  my  beard,  thou  hast  poorly  re- 
paid me  for  my  unremitting  kindness  to  thee.  Ah,  alack, 
alack,  alack — " 

He  was  just  about  to  alack  some  more,  when  a  mellow, 
girlish  voice  came  floating  down  the  gulch  and  fell  in  large 
fragments  near  where  he  lay. 

He  gathered  up  some  of  the  chunks  of  melody  to  see 
what  the  song  might  be.  It  was  that  wonderful  master- 
piece of  Mozart's,"  When  Johnny  Comes  Marching  Home." 

Then  he  swooned. 

The  gurgling  brook  still  continued  to  gurg.  We  will  let 
it  gurg. 

CHAPTER  II. 

GERALDINE   CARBOLINE   o'TOOLE. 

The  melodious  voice  referred  to  in  the  preceding  chapter 
was  owned  and  operated  by  Geraldine  Carboline  O'Toole, 
the  heroine  of  this  classic  tale. 

Anon  she  came  down  the  valley  like  a  thing  of  life. 

The  limber  sunbonnet  which  she  wore  had  drifted  to  lee- 
ward and  revealed  her  Grecian  profile  and  peeled  nose. 

All  at  once  her  fawn-like  eyes  fell  upon  the  prostrate 
figure,  pale  and  still,  and  its  toes  turned  toward  the  center  of 
the  zodiac. 

A  wild,  frightened  look  came  into  her  starry  eyes,  and  a 
ghastly  pallor  overspread  her  young  face,  throwing  her  in- 
tellectual freckles  into  strong  relief. 

She  stole  forward  and  looked  at  the  pale  face  of  Pumpkin 


BILL    NYE    AXD    BOOMERANG.  I07 

Jim  as.  it  lay  upturned  with  the  rosebud  mouth  slightly  ajar, 
like  ths  mouth  of  the  Mississippi  river. 

Then  she  stooped,  and,  dipping  up  some  of  the  clear,  cold 
water  in  his  hat,  poured  it  into  the  rosy  mouth.  Slowly 
it  trickled  down  his  throat,  and  the  wild  panic  and  surprise 
created  in  his  stomach  by  the  novel  fluid  brought  him  speed- 
ily to  consciousness. 

"  Where  am  I,  and  whence  cometh  this  burning  sensation 
in  my  liver?"  faintly  murmured  Pumpkin  Jim.  "  Methought 
some  new  and  peculiar  beverage  didst  cool  my  parching 
throat." 

"  Hist!"  said  Geraldine;  "you  must  not  excite  yourself. 
You  must  brace  up.  Everything  depends  upon  your  keep- 
ing quiet  instead  of  tearing  up  the  ground  with  your  broken 
rib." 

"  And  whence  comest  thou,  O  beauteous  vision,  with  the 
Aurora  Borealis  hair?" 

"  Didst  I  not  tell  thee,"  said  Geraldine,  "  that  thou  mustest 
not  converse,  but  remain  quiet?  Let,  it  suffice,  however, 
that  I  strayed  away  from  a  Sabbath  school  picnic  at  Chey- 
enne, and  have  wandered  on  carelessly  for  several  hundred 
miles,  wotting  not  whence  I  wist." 

By  this  time  the  day  god  which  we  left  gliding  slowly 
adown  the  crimson  west,  had  glode  down  the  crimson  west 
according  to  advertisement,  and  the  solemn  hush  of  night 
was  coming  on,  broken  anon  by  the  long  drawn  shriek  of 
the  mountain  lion,  or  the  pealing  of  the  thunder,  which  also 
reverberated  anon  through  the  otherwise  solemn  hush  of 
night. 

Darkness  came  on  apace.  It  would  be  folly  to  attempt 
to  prevent  it,  so  we  w;ll  let  it  come  on  apace. 


loS  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

CHAPTER  III. 

STARTLING    REVELATIONS. 

We  will  now  suppose  twenty-four  hours  to  have  passed 
Since  the  scenes  narrated  in  the  last  chapter. 

The  gloaming  is  beginning  to  gloam. 

It  began  to  look  as  though  if  something  were  not  done 
for  Pumpkin  Jim  pretty  previously,  he  would  pass  with  a 
gentle,  gliding  movement  up  the  flume. 

He  was  growing  fainter  hour  by  hour,  and  the  extreme 
torpidity  of  his  liver,  gave  rise  to  grave  apprehensions  on  the 
part  of  his  gentle  guardian. 

His  leg  also  gave  him  extreme  pain  and  cause  for  uneasi- 
ness, to  say  the  least.  It  had  swollen  to  about  the  size  of  a 
flour  barrel,  and  was  still  swelling  as  we  go  to  press. 

He  opened  his  eyes  with  a  low  moan,  and  looked  up  into 
the  limber  sun-bonnet. 

"  Beauteous  one,  with  the  ethereal  brow!  "  he  began,  but 
Geraldine  blushed  and  bade  him  let  up. 

"  Gentle  lady,"  he  began  again,  "  I  am  aware  that  the 
crisis  is  near.  Unless  I  have  help  very  soon,  in  some  form 
or  other,  I  shall  have  clomb  the  golden  stair.  Already  the 
circulation  is  impaired,  and  the  transverse  duplex  has  ceased 
to  vibrate.  Dissolution  is  coming  on.  My  pulse  grows 
feebler  hour  by  hour,  and  I  feel  that  another  morning  sun 
will  find  only  my  earthly  tenement  here.  My  spirit  will 
have  wung  its  way  to  the  realms  of  eternal  day." 

"  O,  do  not  talk  that  way,"  sobbed  Geraldine,  filling  her 
apron  full  of  large,  irregular  fragments  of  grief.  "  It  can- 
not, must  not  be!" 

"  Do  not  be  over  confident,"  said  Pumpkin  Jim.  "Few 
men  would  have  lived  as  I  have  with  a  rib  running  through 


BILE   NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  IO9 

the  centre  of  the  liver,  and  into  the  ground  for  nine  or  ten* 
inches  without  great  difficulty.  The  secret  of  my  power 
of  endurance,  I  will,  however,  confide  to  you,  as  this  may  be 
positively  my  last  appearance.  My  true  name  is  not  Pump- 
kin Jim;  that  is  only  a  nom  dc  flume.  My  sure  enough 
name  is  Jesse  James — that  is  the  secret  of  my  longevity.  I 
have  been  killed  a  great  deal.  I  have  lost  my  life  in  almost 
every  State  in  the  Union.  At  first  it  used  to  make  me 
gloomy  and  taciturn  to  be  killed  so  much;  but  latterly  I 
became  very  much  pleased  and  flattered  by  this  attention. 
It  is  sad  to  think,  however,  that  after  being  killed  by  some 
of  our  most  prominent  men,  I  should  at  last  yield  up  the 
ghost  in  a  lonely  canon,  at  the  urgent  solicitation  of  a  nar- 
row-guage  mule.  But  enough;  it  is  useless  to  repine.  All 
that  I  am  kicking  about  is,  that  after  dying  in  so  many  dif- 
ferent styles,  and  n  such  desirable  conditions,  surrounded  by 
all  the  comforts  of  civilization,  and  getting  a  large  amount 
of  newspaper  space,  and  having  a  patent  medicine  portrait 
of  myself  published  in  the  papers,  I  should  succumb  to  the 
death-dealing  jackass,  in  the  solitude  of  the  mountains. 

"  I  cannot  die  again,  however,  without  telling  you  of  my 
love.  I  might  occupy  your  time  by  telling  you  of  my  long 
and  glittering  career  of  crime,  but  it  would  take  too  long. 
I  have  nothing  to  lay  at  your  feet  but  my  untarnished  record 
as  a  highway  robber,  and  my  all  consuming  love. 

"It  would  ease  the  pain  of  my  dying  hour  if  you  were  to 
say  to  me  that  you  returned  my  love." 

Our  hero  then  fell  back  upon  the  mossy  bank  and  gasped 
for  breath,  while  to  all  appearances  the  last  moments  of 
Pumpkin  Jim  had  come. 

It  was  a  trying  time  for  a  young  thing  like  Geraldine  to 
pass  through.     She  stooped  over  him  and  fanned  him  with 


IIO  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

her  sun  bonnet  and  whispered  a  few  low  musical  words  in 
his  ear. 

That  did  the  business. 


CHAPTER  IV. 
all's  well  that  ends  well. 

The  magic  words  that  Geraldine  emptied  into  Pumpkin 
James'  ear  roused  him,  and  his  eyes  opened  with  their  old 
diabolical  light.  A  slight  grating  sound  was  heard.  It  was 
the  broken  bone  of  our  hero's  off-limb  coming  back  into  its 
place  and  reuniting. 

Then  his  rib  came  back  out  of  the  ground  and  waltzed 
into  him,  his  liver  healed  up,  and  he  arose  and  sat  in  the 
moonlight. 

His  first  words  were,  "  Ah,  Geraldine,  you  have  brought 
me  back  to  life.  Now  would  you  please  look  around  and 
sec  if  there  is  any  cold  pie  in  the  house,  my  very  ownest 
own  ?" 

This  seemed  to  indicate  that  he  had  not  fully  recovered 
his  mental  faculties,  as  the  most  accessible  cold  pie' was  327 
miles  from  where  they  then  were,  and  in  a  direct  line. 

Geraldine,  however,  set  herself  at  once  about  procuring 
food  for  her  soul's  idol.  Taking  some  salt  she  went  out 
along  the  wooded  slope  to  find  a  jack-rabbit  on  whose  tail 
she  could  throw  tli-e  salt,  thus  securing  him  as  an  easy  prey. 

She  soon  scared  up  one  with  a  broken  leg. 

Most  all  of  my  gentle,  refined,  and  intellectual  readers  of 
the  Rocky  mountains  have  frightened  from  his  lair,  at  some 
time    or    other,  a  jack-rabbit    writh   a   broken    leg.     Jack- 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  Ill 

rabbits  with  shattered  limbs  are  very  common  in  the  West. 

Geraldine  followed  hopefully  on.  Up  hill  and  down, 
over  low  parks  covered  with  bunch-grass,  across  little  moun- 
tain streams,  through  long  stretches  of  greasewood  and  sage- 
brush, starting  the  owl  from  some  blasted  pine  tree,  or  fright- 
ening the  smiling  coyote  from  his  course,  onward  and  ever 
onward  she  flew  like  a  hunted  fawn. 

Her  every  motion  was  grace  and  poetry  itself.  The  lim- 
ber sun  bonnet  flopped  to  and  fro  with  a  merry  Runic  flop, 
but  the  crippled  John  rabbit  did  not  tarry.  For  an  invalid, 
he  seemed  to  make  very  fair  time. 

Occasionally  he  would  look  around  over  his  shoulder,  and 
laugh  a  merry,  taunting  laugh.  Then  he  would  give  his 
attention  to  getting  over  the  ground. 

Geraldine  got  mad,  and  resolved  to  overtake  her  eame 
and  mete  out  to  him  a  horrible  death. 

Now  and  then  she  would  wildly  throw  a  lump  of  salt  in 
the  direction  of  the  fleeing  rabbit;  but  it  always  failed  to 
connect. 

It  was,  indeed,  an  exciting  chase,  and,  in  fact,  is  yet,  for 
as  we  go  to  press,  Geraldine  is  still  madly  pursuing  the 
ostensibly  disabled  jack-rabbit  with  a  handful  of  common 
table  salt  poised  in  the  air,  ready  to  throw  upon  the  tail  of 
her  rapidly  retreating  adversary. 


Jesse  James,  alias  Pumpkin  Jim,  waited  a  reasonable 
length  of  time  for  the  return  of  Geraldine;  but  as  she  cometh 
not  he  said,  he  arose,  and  bestriding  his  narrow  guage  mule, 
he  rode  away. 

He  readily  laid  down  his  life  again  wherever  he  went,  and 
although  he  died  a  miserable  death  in  almost  every  corner 


112  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

of   the   earth,   he   never    more    met    Geraldine    Carboline 
O'Toole,  the  Italian  Countess,  to  whom  he  was  betrothed. 
It  is  thought  that  she  chased  the  crippled  jack-rabbit  into 
the  realms  of  space. 


WILLIAM   NYE  AND  THE  HEATHEN  CHINEE. 

The  subject  of  agriculture,  which  really  lies  nearest  my 
heart  of  anything  I  can  think  of,  naturally  brings  to  the 
front  the  oriental  buckwheater. 

The  Chinaman,  as  an  agriculturalist,  is  generally  success- 
ful in  a  small  way,  and  I  love  to  watch  him  work.  When- 
ever I  get  bilious  and  need  exercise,  I  go  over  to  the  south- 
end  of  town  and  vicariously  hoe  radishes  for  an  hour  or  two 
till  the  pores  are  open,  and  I  feel  that  delighful  languor  and 
the  chastened  sense  of  hunger  and  honesty  which  comes  to 
the  man  who  is  not  afraid  to  toil. 

There  is  a  feeling  now  too  prevalent  among  our  American 
people  that  the  Chinaman  should  be  driven  away,  but  I  do 
not  join  in  the  popular  cry  because  I  enjoy  him  too  much, 
and  he  soothes  me  and  cheers  me  when  all  the  earth  seems 
filled  with  woe. 

My  favorite  oriental  onion-promoter  is  called  Tue  Long. 
This,  however,  was  a  piece  of  side-splitting  mirth  on  the 
part  of  his  parents,  for,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he  is  too  short. 

He  is  considerably  bronzed  by  the  action  of  the  sun  and 
his  out-of-door  pursuits,  so  that  his  complexion  has  that  radi- 
ant olive  tinge  that  we  see  on  the  canvas-covered  ham. 

I  go  over  to  Tue  Long's  farm,  in  Sherrod's  alkali  addi- 
tion to  Laramie,  when  I  feel  that  office  work  does  not  give 
me  the  physical  exercise  that  I  need,  and  I  lean  over  the 


BILL   ttYfc   AN'D    UOOMERAtfO.  11$ 

fence  and  tell  Tue  Long  my  experience  with  club-footed 
parsnips  and  early-fried  potatoes.  At  first  he  used  to  listen 
to  me  with  his  mouth  open,  so  that  you  could  throw  a 
Mason  &  Hamlin  organ  into  it,  but  now  he  don't  seem  to 
oav  much  attention  to  what  I  say  to  him. 

This  shows  that  the  Chinaman  cannot  keep  pace  with  the 
rapid  strides  now  being  made  by  American  agriculture. 

One  day  last  week  I  had  lost  my  appetite,  and  needed 
active  bodily  exertion,  so  I  strolled  over  to  the  rat-eater's 
rural  retreat,  to  watch  Tue  Long  a  few  hours,  and  see  if  I 
couldn't  get  up  an  appetite. 

The  wind  was  blowing  pretty  fresh,  as  it  sometimes  does 
in  this  lovely  clime,  and  Tue  Long  was  trying  to  hold  down 
some  vulcanized  rubber  beets,  and  moss-agate  asparagus. 
He  wasn't  succeeding  very  well,  for  just  as  he  would  get 
the  beets  driven  into  the  ground  securely,  the  zephyr  would 
spring  up  from  the  south  and  blow  the  moss-agate  asparagus 
all  over  the  military  reservation.  Then  while  he  would  be 
giving  his  attention  to  the  asparagus,  the  wailing  wind* 
would  blow  down  his  fence,  and  turn  the  tail  of  Tue  Long's 
morning  wrapper  over  his  head,  and  leave  his  spinal  columrf 
sticking  up  into  the  summer  sky. 

It  seemed  to  be  a  bad  day  for  agriculture,  and  Tue  Long 
would  alternately  uncork  some  brocaded  profanity,  and 
then  chase  his  hat,  or  do  up  his  hair  in  a  fresh  Grecian  coil, 

I  leaned  over  the  fence,  and  laughing  a  low  gurgling 
laugh,  I  said: 

"  Tue  Long,  you  must  learn  to  control  your  fiendish  tem- 
per. Agriculture  requires  patience  and  serenity  qf  disposi- 
tion. You  must  always  be  cheerful  and  gentle.  Always 
be  pleasant  and  amiable  in  your  home  life. 

«  When  the  mountain  wind  uncoils  your  back-hair,  and 
*S 


114  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

you  cannot  hold  down  the  flap  of  your  dressing  sacque,  you 
must  not  get  mad  and  swear;  but  fill  the  air  with  merry 
laughter,  just  as  Confucius  used  to  do.  Be  a  philosopher, 
and  frown  down  these  little  annoyances." 

Now,  when  I  was  propagating  my  Scotch-plaid  summer 
squashes,  the  squash-bugs  got  in  one  morning  before  break- 
fast, and  ate  the  vines.  Soon  after  that  I  tried  a  new  kind  of 
fire-proof  squash,  with  a  hunting-case  on  it;  but  the  squash- 
bugs  took  a  spade  and  pried  open  the  hunting-case,  and  ate 
the  supreme  stuffing  out  of  every  individual  squash.  I  then 
tried  the  Bessemer-steel  squash,  with  plaster  of  Paris  works 
inside,  but  the  irrigation  was  defective,  and  it  never 
matured. 

But,  did  I  forget  myself  and  swear  like  a  Guinea  hen, 
the  way  you  do?  Did  I  break  forth  into  petulant  remarks, 
and  lower  myself  in  the  estimation" of  my  neighbors? 

Not  to  any  remarkable  degree. 

I  went  to  the  stockholders  of  the  Pioneer  Canal  Company 
and  said,  "  Here,  gentlemen,  I  am  an  inexperienced  agri- 
culturalist, and  I  do  not  succeed.  Nothing  grows  under  my 
watchful  care  but  the  speckled  squash-bug,  and  the  fresh 
water  cut  worm.  You  are  old,  horny-handed  sons  of  toil, 
and  practical  tillers  of  the  soil;  what  shall  I  do?" 

Then  the  secretary  called  a  meeting  of  the  stockholders, 
and  the  matter  was  discussed.  The  general  custodian  of 
peculiar  seeds  and  rare  bulbs  was  ordered  to  select  certain 
seeds  from  the  bureau,  and  give  them  to  me  for  trial. 
Among  these  were  the  seeds  of  the  early  dwarf  salad  oil 
vine,  the  Northern  spy  horse  radish,  the  black  and  tan  Lima 
bean,  the  non-explosive  codfish  ball,  the  soda  water  melon, 
the  grammatical  sugar  beet,  and  the  anti-cut  worm  asbestos 
Itring  bean. 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  II5 

These  have  all  grown  well  and  thrived  when  my  neigh- 
bors, who  were  too  proud  to  ask  advice,  have  failed.  I 
shall  this  year  raise,  no  doubt,  enough  of  the  non-explosive 
codfish  ball  alone  to  place  me  far  beyond  the  reach  of  want. 
But  Tue  Long  is  a  thousand  years  behind  the  great  irresis- 
tible tide  of  progress,  and  will  cling  to  his  celluloid  beets 
and  cottonwood  cucumbers  for  ages  yet  to  come. 


HONG  LEE'S   GRAND   BENEFIT  AT  LEADVILLE. 

It  will  be  remembere"'  z*.  about  nine  months  asro  Hong 
Lee  resolved  to  est?'  ..  a  branch  laundry  and  shirt-destroy- 
ing establishment  at  Lcadville,  with  the  main  office  and  gen- 
eral headquarters  at  Laramie.  All  at  once  he  came  back, 
and  seemed  to  be  satisfied  at  the  old  stand.  So  I  would  ask 
him  his  opinion  of  the  future  of  the  carbonate  camp. 

Hong  Lee  had  just  tied  his  hair  up  in  a  Grecian  coil  and 
secured  it  in  a  mass  of  shining  braids,  as  I  came  in,  and  was 
giving  some  orders  as  to  the  day's  work.  One  employe 
was  just  completing  his  devotions  to  a  cross-eyed  god  in  one 
corner,  and  another  was  squirting  water  out  of  his  mouth 
like  an  oriental  street  sprinkler  over  the  spotless  front  of  a 
white  shirt. 

Hong  Lee  asked  me  to  sit  down  on  the  ironing  table  and 
make  myself  at  home.  I  asked  him  how  trade  was,  and  a  few 
other  unimportant  questions,  and  then  asked  him  what  he 
thought  of  Leadville.  I  cannot  give  the  conversation  in  the 
exact  language  in  which  it  was  given,  as  I  am  not  up  in 
pigeon  English.  He  said  he  went  over  to  Leadville,  think- 
ing that  at  $4.25  per  dozen  he  could  work  up  a  good  busi- 
ness and  wear  a   brocaded  overshirt  with  sloshed  sleeves 


n6 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 


and  Pekin  trimmings.  Trade  was  a  little  dull  here  and  he 
had  more  Chinamen  than  he  could  use,  so  he  had  con- 
cluded to  establish  a  branch  outfit  at  Leadville  and  make 

some  scads. 

I    asked    h  i  m 

why  he  did  not 
remain  at  the 
camp  and  go 
through  the  pro- 
gramme. 

He  said  that  the 
general  feeling  in 
Leadville  was  not 
friendly  to  the 
Chinaman.  The 
people  did  not 
meet  him  with 
going  over  the  battlements.  a  brass  band,  and 

the  mayor  didn't  tender  him  the  freedom  of  the  city.  On 
the  contrary,  they  seemed  cold  and  distant  toward  him.  By 
and  by  they  clubbed  together  and  came  to  call  on  him. 
They  were  very  attentive  then.  Very  much  so.  Some  had 
shot-guns  to  fire  salutes  with,  and  others  had  large  clothes- 
lines in  their  hands.  Hong  Lee  felt  proud  to  be  so  much 
thought  of,  and  was  preparing  an  impromptu  speech  on 
orange  paper  with  a  marking  brush,  when  the  chairman 
came  and  told  him  that  a  few  American  citizens  had  come, 
hoping  to  be  of  use  to  him  in  learning  the  ways  of  the  city. 
Then  they  took  him  out  to  the  public  square  where  Hong 
Lee  supposed  that  he  was  to  make  his  speech,  and  they  pro- 
ceeded to  kick  him  into  the  most  shapeless  mass.  They 
kicked  him  into  a  globular  form;  and  then  flattened  him  out* 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  H7 

after  which  they  knocked  him  into  a  rhomboid.  This  change 
was  followed  by  thumping  him  into  an  isosceles  triangle. 
When  he  looked  more  like  a  bundle  of  old  clothes  than  a 
Chinaman,  they  took  him  with  a  pair  of  tongs,  and  threw 
him  over  the  battlements. 

Hono-  Lee  returned  to  consciousness,  and  murmured, 
"Where  am  I?"  or  words  to  that  effect.  A  noble  mule- 
skinner  passing  by,  touched  him  up  with  the  hot  end  of  his 
mule  whip,  and  showed  him  the  route  to  Denver. 

Hong  Lee  says  now,  be  it  ever  so  humble,  there's  no  place 
like  home. 


YOTT  FOTJ. 

She  is  rather  below  the  medium  height,  and  her  gait  iz 
the  easy  gliding  movement  of  a  club-footed  Guinea  pig. 
She  has  a  mouth  like  a  whippoorwill,  and  when  she  laughed 
at  some  little  bo?i  mot,  such  as  I  am  always  getting  off,  her 
upper  lip  was  thrown  back  over  her  head,  till  it  caught  on  a 
large  Celestial  hair-pin,  and  her  attendant  had  to  go  up 
there  with  a  monkey-wrench  and  unfasten  it.  It  was  the 
most  heavenly  smile  I  ever  saw.  It  had  so  much  depth  and 
soul  to  it.  I  felt  flattered,  of  course,  but  I  was  more  guarded 
in  my  remarks  after  that.  The  Chinese,  as  a  nation,  can- 
not grapple  with  our  American  style  of  joke.  They  are 
not  strong  enough. 

You  Fou  was  held  here  on  a  telegram  from  Denver, 
until  Monday,  when  she  was  released  on  writ  of  habeas 
corpus.  I  went  up  to  see  how  the  writ  would  work  on  a 
China  woman.  At  first  it  didn't  seem  to  catch  on,  but 
after  awhile  it  began  to  work  on  her  all  right,  and  evehtti- 


11$  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

ally  turned  her  loose.  But  I  wouldn't  be  a  habeas  corpus 
for  $2  per  day  and  board. 

After  being  released  on  the  writ,  there  being  no  warrant 
at  that  time,  counsel  told  Ah  Say,  who  had  You  Fou  in 
charge,  that  the  best  thing  for  him  to  do  would  be  to  light 
out  with  great  vehemence  for  some  foreign  strand,  as  the 
Denver  officer  would  be  here  Monday  evening  with  the 
required  documents  to  take  You  Fou  back  to  Denver. 
She  was  therefore  taken  to  the  palatial  residence  of  Hong 
Lee,  on  Second,  near  A  street,  where  she  was  rigged  up  in 
man's  attire;  but  Sheriff  Boswell  stepped  in,  and  through 
the  gauzy  disguise  lie  discovered  You  Fou. 

He  arrested  her.  She  was  bathed  in  tears.  It  was  the 
first  bath  she  ever  had.  He  took  her  and  held  her,  fieura- 
tively  speaking,  until  another  telegram  announced  that  the 
requisition  of  the  Governor  was  countermanded,  and  You 
Fou  lit  out  for  her  destination. 

I  shall  write  a  little  novelette  next  summer  with  this  tale 
as  a  foundation,  and  it  will  be  a  good  thing.  I  am  having 
the  cuts  made  now  at  a  shoemaker  shop  here  in  town. 


THE  LOP-EARED  LOVERS  OF  THE  LITTLE  LARAMIE. 

CHAPTER  I. 

A   TALE   OF    LOVE    AND    PARENTAL   CUSSEDNESS. 

The  scene  opens  with  a  landscape.  In  the  foreground 
stands  a  house;  but  there  are  no  honeysuckles  or  Johnny- 
jump-ups  clambering  over  the  door;  there  are  no  Colum- 
bines or  bitter-sweets,  or  bachelors-buttons,  clinging  lovingly 
to  the  eaves,  and  filling  the  air  with  fragrance.     The  reason 


BILL    NYE    AYD    BOOMERANG.  I  19 

for  this  is,  that  it  is  too  early  in  the  spring  for  Columbines 
and  Johnny-jump-ups,  at  the  time  when  our  story  opens,  and 
they  would't  grow  in  that  locality  without  irrigation,  any- 
way. That  is  the  reason  that  these  little  adjuncts  do  not  ap- 
pear in  the  landscape. 

But  the  scene  is  nevertheless  worthy  of  a  painter.  The 
house,  especially,  ought  to  be  painted,  and  a  light  coat  of 
the  same  article  on  the  front  gate  would  improve  its  appear- 
ance materially.  In  the  door  of  the  cottage  stands  a  damsel, 
whose  natural  lovliness  is  enhanced  30  or  40  per  cent,  by  a 
large  oroide  chain  which  encircles  her  swan-like  throat;  and, 
as  she  shades  her  eyes  with  her  alabaster  hand,  the  gleam  of 
a  gutta  percha  ring  on  her  front  finger  tells  the  casual  ob- 
server that  she  is  engaged. 

While  she  is  shading  her  eyes  from  the  blinding  glare  of 
the  orb  of  day,  the  aforesaid  orb  of  day  keeps  right  on  set- 
ting, according  to  advertisement,  and  at  last  disappears  be 
hind  the  snowy  range,  lighting  up,  as  it  does  so,  the  fleecy 
clouds  and  turning  them  into  gold,  figuratively  speaking, 
making  the  picture  one  of  surpassing  lovliness.     But  what 
does  she  care  for  a  $13.00  sunset,  or  the  low,  sad  wail  of  the 
sage-hen   far  up  the  canon,  as  it  calls  to  its  mate?     What 
does  she  care  for  the  purjole  landscape  and  the  mournful  sigh 
of  the  new  milch  cow  which  is  borne  to  her  over  the  gre© 
divide  ?     She  don't  care  a  cent. 

CHAPTER   II. 

It  is  now  the  proper  time  to  bring  in  the  solitary  horse- 
man. He  is  seen  riding  a  mouse-colored  bronco  on  a 
smooth  canter,  and,  from  his  uneasiness  in  the  saddle,  it  is 
evident  that  he  has  been  riding'  a  long   time,  and  that  it 


120  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

doesn't  agree  with  him.     He  has  been  attending  the  spring 
meeting  of  the  Rocky  Mountain  Roundup. 

He  takes  a  benevolent  chew  of  tobacco,  looks  at  his  cyl- 
inder-escapement watch,  and  plunges  his  huge  Mexican 
spurs  into  the  panting  sides  of  his  bronco  steed.  The  ambi- 
tious steed  rears  forward  and  starts  away  into  the  gathering 
gloom  at  the  rate  of  twenty-one  miles  in  twenty-one  days, 
while  a  bitter  oath  escapes  from  the  clenched  teeth  and 
foam-flecked  lips  of  the  pigeon-toed  rider. 

But  stay !  Let  us  catch  a  rapid  outline  of  the  solitary 
horseman,  for  he  is  the  affianced  lover  and  soft-eyed  gazelle 
of  Luella  Frowzletop,  the  queen  of  the  Skimmilk  Ranche. 
He  is  evidently  a  man  of  say  twenty  summers,  with  a  sini- 
ster expression  to  the  large,  ambitious,  imported,  Italian 
mouth.  A  broad-brimmed  white  hat  with  a  scarlet  flannel 
band  protects  his  Gothic  features  from  the  burning  sun,  and 
a  pale-brown  ducking  suit  envelopes  his  lithe  form.  A 
horsehair  lariat  hangs  at  his  saddle  bow,  and  the  faint  sus- 
picion of  a  downy  mustache  on  his  chiselled  upper  lip  is 
just  beginning  to  ooze  out  into  the  air,  as  if  ashamed  of  itself. 
It  is  one  of  those  sickly  mustaches,  a  kind  of  cross  between 
blonde  and  brindle,  which  mean  well  enough,  but  never 
amount  to  anything.  His  eyes  are  fierce  and  restless,  with 
short,  expressive,  white  eyelashes,  and  his  nose  is  short  but 
wide  out,  gradually  melting  away  into  his  bronzed  and  stal- 
wart cheeks,  like   a  dish   of   ice-cream   before   a  Sabbath 

school  picnic. 

Such  is  the  rough  sketch  of  Pigeon-toed  Pete,  the  swain 
who  had  stolen  away  the  heart  of  Luella  Frowzletop,  the 
queen  of  the  Skimmilk  Ranche.  He  isn't  handsome,  but 
he  is  very  good,  and  he  loves  the  fair  Luella  with  a  great 
deal  of  diligence,  although  her  parents  are  averse  to  the 


BILL   NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  121 

match,  for  we  might  as  well  inform  the  sagacious  and  hand- 
some reader  that  her  parents  are  Presbyterians,  whereas  the 
hero  of  this  blood-curdling  tale  is  a  hard-shell  Baptist. 
Thus  are  two  hearts  doomed  to  love  in  vain. 


CHAPTER  III. 

During  all  this  time  that  we  have  been  going  on  with  the 
preceding  chapter,  Luella  has  been  standing  in  the  door 
looking  away  to  the  eastward,  a  soiled  gingham  apron 
thrown  over  her  head,  and  a  dreamy,  far-away  look  in  her 
mournful  sorrel  eyes.  Suddenly  there  breaks  on  her  finely 
moulded  and  flexible  ear  the  sound  of  a  horse's  hoof. 

«  Aha ! "  she  murmurs.  "  Hist !  it  is  him.  Blast  his  pict- 
ure! Why  didn't  he  have  some  style  about  him,  and  get 
here  on  time?"  And  she  impatiently  mashes  a  huge  mos- 
quito that  is  fastened  on  her  swarthy  arm. 

Any  one  could  see,  as  she  stood  there,  that  she  was  mad. 
She  didn't  really  have  any  cause  for  it,  but  she  was  an  only 
child,  and  accustomed  to  being  petted  and  humored,  and 
lying  in  bed  till  half  past  ten.  This  had  made  her  high 
spirited,  and  she  occasionally  turned  loose  with  the  first 
thing  that  came  to  hand. 

"You're  a  fine  haired  snoozer  from  Bitter  Creek;  ain't 
ye?"  said  the  pale  flower  of  Skimmilk  Ranche,  as  the  soli- 
tary horseman  alighted  from  his  panting  steed,  and  threw 
his  arms  about  her  with  great  sang  froid. 

«  In  what  respect?"  said  Pigeon-toed  Pete,  as  he  held  her 
from  him,  and  looked   lovingly  down  into  her  deep,  sorrel 

eyes. 

«  O  fairest  of  thy  sect,"  he  continued,  as  he  took  out  his 
quid  of  tobacco,  preparatory  to  planting  a  long,  wide*  pas- 


122  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

sionate  kiss  on  her  burning  cheek,  "  you  wot  not  what  you 
feign  would  say.  The  way  was  long,  my  ambling  steed 
has  a  ringbone  on  the  off  leg,  and  thou  chidest  me,  thy 
erring  swain,  without  a  cause."  He  knew  that  she  would 
pitch  into  him,  so  he  had  this  little  impromptu  speech  all 
committed  to  memory. 

She  pillowed  her  sunny  head  on  his  panting  breast  for  an 
hour  or  so,  and  shed  eleven  or  eight  happy  tears. 

"  O  lode  star  of  my  existence,  and  soother  of  my  every 
sorrow,"  said  he,  with  charming  naivete,  "  wilt  thou  fly  with 
me  to-night  to  some  adjacent  justice  of  the  peace,  and  be 
my  skipful  gazelle,  my  little  ne  plus  ultra,  my  own  magnum 
bonum  and  mitltum  in  fiarvo,  so  to  speak?  Leave  your 
Presbyterian  parents  to  run  the  ranche,  and  fly  with  me. 
You  shall  never  want  for  anything.  You  shall  never  put 
your  dimpled  hands  in  dish-water,  or  wring  out  your  own 
clothes.  I  will  get  you  a  new  rosewood  washing  machine, 
and  when  your  slightest  look  indicates  that  you  want  forty 
or  fifty  dollars  for  pin  money,  I  will  make  out  a  check  for 
that  amount." 

He  had  just  finished  his  little  harangue,  whatever  that  is, 
and  was  putting  in  a  few  choice  gestures,  when  the  old  man 
came  around  from  behind  the  rain-water  barrel  with  a  shot- 
gun, and  told  the  impassioned  swain  that  he  had  better  skip. 
He  told  the  ardent  admirer  of  Luella  that  he  had  better  not 
linger  to  any  great  extent,  and  as  he  said  it  in  his  quiet  but 
firm  way,  at  the  same  time  fondling  the  lock  on  his  shot- 
gun, the  lover  lingered  not,  but  hied  him  away  to  his  neigh- 
ing steed,  and,  lightly  springing  into  the  saddle,  was  soon 
lost  to  the  sigfht.  We  will  leave  him  on  the  road  for  a  short 
time. 


BILL   NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  1^3 


CHAPTER   IV. 

We  will  now  suppose  a  period  of  three  years  to  have 
passed.  Luella  had  been  sent  to  visit  her  friends  in  southern 
Iowa,  partly  to  assuage  her  grief,  and  partly  to  save  ex- 
penses, for  she  was  a  hearty  eater.  Here  she  met  a  young 
man  named  Rufus  G.  Hopper,  who  fell  in  love  with  her, 
about  the  first  hard  work  he  did,  and  when,  metaphorically 
speaking,  he  laid  his  40-acre  homestead,  with  its  wealth  of 
grasshopper  eggs,  at  her  feet,  she  capitulated,  and  became 
his'n,  and  he  became  her'n. 

Thus  these  two  erstwhile  lovers  of  the  long  ago  had  be- 
come  separated,  and  the  fair  Queen  of  the  Skimmilk  Ranche 
had  taken  a  change  of  venue  with  her  affections.  Still  all 
seemed  to  be  well  to  the  casual  observer,  although  at  times 
her  eyes  had  that  far-away  look  of  those  who  are  crossed  in 
love,  or  whose  livers  are  out  of  order.  Was  it  the  fleeing 
vision  of  the  absent  lover,  or  had  she  eaten  something  that 
didn't  agree  with  her? 

Ah!  who  shall  say  that  at  times  there  did  not  flash  across 
her  mind  the  fact  that  she  had  sacrificed  herself  on  the  altar 
of  Mammon,  and  given  her  rich  love  in  exchange  for  forty 
acres  of  Government  land?  But  the  time  drew  nigh  for  the 
celebration  of  the  nuptials,  and  still  no  tidings  of  the  absent 
lover.  Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  4th  of  July,  the  day  set 
apart  for  the  wedding,  and  still  in  the  dark  mysterious  bosom 
of  the  unknown,  lurked  the  absent  swain. 


These  stars  indicate  the  number  of  days  which  we  must 
now   suppose   to   have  passed,  and   the   glad   day   of  the 


124 


BILL   NYE   AND    BOOMERANG. 


Nation's  rejoicing  is  at  hand.  The  loud  mouthed  cannoti 
proclaims,  for  the  one  hundredth  time,  that  in  the  little 
Revolutionary  scrimmage  of  1776,  our  forefathers  got  away 
with  the  persimmons.  Flags  wave,  bands  play,  and  crackers 
explode,  and  scare  the  teams  from  the  country.  Fair  rustic 
maids  are  seen  on  every  hand  with  their  good  clothes  on, 
and  farmers'  sons  walk  up  and  down  the  street,  asking  the 
price  of  watermelons  and  soda  water.  Bye  and  bye  the 
band  comes  down  street  playing  "  Old  Zip  Coon,"  with 
variations.  The  procession  begins  to  form  and  point  toward 
the  eraiid  stand,  where  the  Declaration  of  Independence 
will  be  read  to  the  admiring  audience,  and  lemonade  retailed 
at  five  cents  a  glass. 

But  who  are  the  couple  who  sit  on  the  front  seat  near  the 
speaker's  stand,  listening  with  rapt  attention  to  the  new  and 
blood-curdling  romance,  entitled  the  "  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence?" It  is  Luella  and  her  bran  new  husband.  The 
casual  observer  can  discover  that,  by  the  way  he  smokes  a 
cheap  cigar  in  her  face,  and  allows  the  fragrant  smoke  from 
the  five  cent  Havana  to  drift  into  her  sorrel  eyes.  All  at 
once  the  band  strikes  up  the  operatic  strain  of  "  Captain 
Jinks,"  and  as  the  sad  melody  dies  away  in  the  distance,  a 
young  man  steps  proudly  forth,  at  the  conclusion  of  the 
president's  introductory  speech,  and  in  a  low,  musical  voice, 
begins  to  set  forth  the  wrongs  visited  on  the  Pilgrim 
Fathers,  and  to  dish  up  the  bones  of  G.  Washington  and  T. 
Jefferson,  in  various  styles. 

What  is  it  about  the  classic  mouth,  with  its  charming 
naivete,  and  the  amber  tinge  lurking  about  its  roguish  out- 
lines, which  awakes  the  old  thrill  in  Luella's  heart,  and 
causes  the  vital  current  to  recede  from  its  accustomed  chan- 
nels, and  leave  her  face  like  marble,  save  where  here  and 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMER AN6.  tl§ 

there  a  large  freckle  stands  out  in  bold  relief?  It  is 
the  mouth  of  Pigeon  toed  Pete.  Those  same  Gothic 
features  stand  out  before  her,  and  she  knows  him  in  a 
moment.  It  is  true  he  had  colored  his  mustache,  and  he 
wore  a  stand-up  collar;  but  it  was  the  same  form,  the  same 
low,  musical,  squeaky  voice,  and  the  same  large,  intellectuai 
ears,  which  she  remembered  so  well. 

It  appeared  that  he  had  been  to  the  Gunnison  country, 
and  having  manifested  considerable  orig-inalitv  and  genius 
as  a  bull  whacker,  had  secured  steady  employment  and 
large  wages,  being  a  man  with  a  ready  command  of  choice 
and  elegant  profanity,  and  an  irresistable  way  of  appealing 
to  the  wants  of  a  sluggish  animal.  Taking  his  spare  change, 
he  had  invested  it  in  hand  made  sour  mash  corn  juice,  which 
he  retailed  at  from  25  to  50  cents  per  glass.  Rain  water 
being  plenty,  the  margin  was  large,  and  his  profits  highly 
satisfactory.  In  this  way  he  had  managed  to  get  together 
some  cash,  and  was  at  once  looked  upon  as  a  leading  capital- 
ist, and  a  man  on  whom  rested  the  future  prosperity  of  the 
country.  He  wore  moss-agate  sleeve  buttons,  and  carried  a 
stem-winding  watch.  He  looked  indeed  like  a  thing  of  life, 
and  as  he  closed  with  some  stirring  quotation  from  Martin 
F.  Tupper  amid  the  crash  of  applause,  and  the  band  struck 
up  the  oratorio  of  "  Whoop  'em  up  'Liza  Jane,"  and  the 
audience  dispersed  to  witness  a  game  of  base-ball.  Luella 
took  her  husband's  arm,  climbed  into  the  lumber  wagon, 
and  rode  home,  with  a  great  grief  in  her  heart.  Had  she 
deferred  her  wedding  for  only  a  few  short  hours,  the  course 
of  her  whole  life  would  have  been  entirely  changed,  and, 
instead  of  plodding  her  weary  way  through  the  long,  tedious 
years  as  Mrs.  Hopper,  making  rag-carpets  during  the  win- 
ter, and    smashing    the    voracious   potato   bug   during   the 


126  BILL   NYE   AND   BOOMiiftANG. 

summer,  she  might   have  been  interested    in    a   carbonate 
-Bonanza,  worn  checked  stockings,  and  low-necked  shoes. 

There  are  two  large,  limpid  tears  standing  in  her  sorrel 
eyes,  as  the  curtain  falls  on  this  story,  and  her  lips  move 
involuntarily  as  she  murmurs  that  little  couplet  from  Milton : 

"  I  feel  kind  of  sad  and  bilious,  because 
My  heart  keeps  sighing,  'It  couldn't  was.'" 


SPEECH  OF  SPARTACTJS. 

ADAPTED   FROM   THE   ORIGINAL    ESPECIALLY   FOR   THIS   WORK. 

It  had  been  a  day  of  triumph  in  Capua.  Lentulus  return- 
ing with  victorious  eagles,  had  aroused  the  populace  with 
the  sports  of  the  amphitheatre,  to  an  extent  hitherto  un- 
known even  in  that  luxurious  city.  A  large  number  of 
people  from  the  rural  districts  had  been  in  town  to  watch 
the  conflict  in  the  arena,  and  to  listen  with  awe  and  venera- 
tion to  the  infirm  and  decrepit  ring  jokes. 

The  shouts  of  revelry  had  died  away.  The  last  loiterer 
had  retired  from  the  free-lunch  counter,  and  the  lights  in  the 
palace  of  the  victor  were  extinguished.  The  moon  piercing 
the  tissue  of  fleecy  clouds,  tipped  the  dark  waters  of  the 
Tiber  with  a  wavy  tremulous  light.  The  dark-browed 
Roman  soldier  moved  on  his  homeward  way,  the  sidewalk 
occasionally  flying  up  and  hitting  him  in  the  back. 

No  sound  was  heard  save  the  low  sob  of  some  retiring 
wave,  as  it  told  its  story  to  the  smooth  pebbles  of  the  beach, 
or  the  unrelenting  boot-jack  struck  the  high  board  fence  in 
the  back  yard,  just  missing  the  Roman  Tom  cat  in  its  mad 
flight,  and  then  all  was  still  as  the  breast  when  the  spirit 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  1^7 

has  departed.  Anon  the  Roman  snore  would  steal  in  upon 
the  deathly  silence,  and  then  die  away  like  the  sough  of  a 
summer  breeze.  In  the  green  room  of  the  amphitheater  a 
little  band  of  gladiators  were  assembled.  The  foam  of  con- 
flict yet  lingered  on  their  lips,  the  scowl  of  battle  yet  hung 
upon  their  brows,  and  the  large  knobs  on  their  classic  profiles 
indicated  that  it  had  been  a  busy  day  with  them. 

There  was  an  embarassing  silence  of  about  five  minutes, 
When  Spartacus,  borrowing  a  chew  of  tobacco  from  TriV.v' 
atum  Aurelius,  stepped  forth  and  thus  addressed  them: 

"Mr.  Chairman,  Ladies  and  Gentlemen:  Ye  call  me 
chief,  and  ye  do  well  to  call  him  chief  who  for  twelve  long 
years  has  met  in  the  arena  every  shape  of  man  or  beast  thai 
Che  broad  empire  of  Rome  could  furnish,  and  yet  has  never 
towered  his  arm.  I  do  not  say  this  to  brag,  however,  but 
simply  to  show  that  I  am  the  star  thumper  of  the  entire 
outfit. 

■  "  If  there  be  one  among  you  who  can  say  that  ever  in  pub- 
lie  fight  or  private  brawl  my  actions  did  belie  my  words,  let 
him  stand  forth  and  say  it,  and  I  will  spread  him  around 
over  the  arena  till  the  Coroner  will  have  to  gather  him  up 
with  a  blotting  paper.  If  there  be  three  in  all  your  com- 
pany  dare  face  me  on  the  bloody  sands,  let  them  come,  and 
I  will  construct  upon  their  physiognomy  such  cupolas,  and 
royal  cornices,  and  Corinthian  capitols,  and  entablatures,  that 
their  own  mothers  would  pass  them  by  in  the  broad  light  of 
high  noon,  unrecognized. 

"And  yet  I  was  not  always  thus— a  hired  butcher— the 
savage  chief  of  still  more  savage  men. 

"  My  ancestors  came  from  old  Sparta,  the  county  seat  of 
Marcus  Aurelius  county,  and  settled  among  the  vine-dad 
hills  and  cotton  groves  of  Syrsilla.     My  early  life  ran  qi.iet 


128  31LL   NYE   AND   BOOMERANG. 

as  the  clear  brook  by  which  I  sported.  Aside  from  the 
gentle  patter  of  the  maternal  slipper  on  my  overalls,  every- 
thing moved  along  with  me  like  the  silent  oleaginous  flow 
of  the  ordinary  goose  grease.  My  boyhood  was  one  long, 
happy  summer  day.  We  stole  the  Roman  muskmelon,  and 
put  split  sticks  on  the  tail  of  the  Roman  dog,  and  life  was 
one  continuous  hallelujah. 

"  When  at  noon  I  led  the  sheep  beneath  the  shade  and 
played  the  Sweet  Bye- and- Bye  on  my  shepherd's  flute, 
there  was  another  Spartan  youth,  the  son  of  a  neighbor,  to 
join  me  in  the  pastime.  We  led  our  flocks  to  the  same  past- 
ure, and  together  picked  the  large  red  ants  out  of  our  inde- 
structible sandwiches. 

"  One  evening,  after  the  sheep  had  been  driven  into  the 
corral  and  we  were  all  seated  beneath  the  persimmon  tree 
that  shaded  our  humble  cottage,  my  grandsire,  an  old  man, 
was  telling  of  Marathon  and  Lcuctra  and  George  Francis 
Train  and  Dr.  Mary  Walker  and  other  great  men,  and  how 
a  little  band  of  Spartans,  under  Sitting  Bull,  had  withstood 
the  entire  regular  army.  I  did  not  then  know  what  war 
was,  but  my  cheek  burned,  I  knew  not  why,  and  I  thought 
what  a  glorious  thing  it  would  be  to  leave  the  reservation 
and  go  on  the  warpath.  But  my  mother  kissed  my  throb- 
bing temples  and  bade  me  go  soak  my  head  and  think  no 
more  of  those  old  tales  and  savage  wars.  That  very  night 
the  Romans  landed  on  our  coasts.  They  pillaged  the 
whole  country,  burned  the  agency  buildings,  demolished  the 
ranche,  rode  off  the  stock,  tore  down  the  smoke-house,  and 
rode  their  war  horses  over  the  cucumber  vines. 

"  To-day  I  killed  a  man  in  the  arena,  and  when  I  broke  his 
helmet-clasps  and  looked  upon  him,  behold!  he  was  my 
friend.     The  same  sweet  smile  was  on  his  face  that  I  had 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  129 

known  when  in  adventurous  boyhood  we  bathed  in  the 
glassy  lake  by  our  Spartan  home  and  he  had  tied  my  shirt 
into  1,752  dangerous  and  difficult  knots. 

"He  knew  me,  smiled  some  more,  said  ' Ta,  ta,'  and 
ascended  the  golden  stair.  I  begged  of  the  Praetor  that  I 
might  be  allowed  to  bear  away  the  body  and  have  it  packed 
in  ice  and  shipped  to  his  friends  near  Syrsilla,  but  he  couldn't 
see  it. 

"  Ay,  upon  my  bended  knees,  amidst  the  dust  and  blood  of 
the  anna,  I  begged  this  poor  boon,  and  the  PraBtor  an- 
swered :  '  Let  the  carrion  rot.  There  are  no  noble  men  but 
Romans  and  Ohio  men.  Let  the  show  go  on.  Bring  in 
the  bobtail  lion  from  Abyssinia.'  And  the  assembled  maids 
and  matrons  and  the  rabble  shouted  in  derision  and  told  me 
to  'brace  up'  and  'have  some  style  about  my  clothes'  and 
'to  give  it  to  us  easy,'  with  other  Roman  flings  which  I  do 
not  now  call  to  mind. 

"  And  so  must  you,  fellow  gladiators,  and  so  must  I,  die 
like  dosfs. 

"  To-morrow  we  are  billed  to  appear  at  the  Coliseum  at 
Rome,  and  reserved   seats  are  being  sold  at  the  corner  of 

Third  and  Corse  streets  for  our  moral  and  instructive  per- 
formance while  I  am  speaking  to  you. 

•  "  Ye  stand  here  like  giants  as  ye  are,  but  to-morrow  some 
Roman  Adonis  with  a  sealskin  cap  will  pat  your  red  brawn 
and  bet  his  sesturces  upon  your  blood. 

"O  Rome!  Rome!  Thou  hast  been  indeed  a  tender 
nurse  to  me.  Thou  hast  given  to  that  gentle,  timid  shep- 
herd lad  who  never  knew  a  harsher  tone  than  a  flute  note, 
muscles  of  iron,  and  a  heart  like  the  adamantine  lemon  pie 
of  the  railroad  lunch-room.  Thou  hast  taught  him  to  drive 
his  sword  through  plated  mail  and  links  of  rugged  brass, 

♦a 


t^o  BILL   NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

and  warm  it  in  the  palpitating  gizzard  of  his  foe,  and  to 
gaze  into  the  glaring  eyeballs  of  the  fierce  Numidian  lion 
even  as  the  smooth-cheeked  Roman  Senator  looks  into  the 
laughing  eyes  of  the  girls  in  the  treasury  department. 

"And  he  shall  pay  thee  back  till  thy  rushing  Tiber  is  red 
as  frothing  wine;  and  in  its  deepest  ooze  thy  life-blood  lies 
curdled.  You  doubtless  hear  the  gentle  murmur  of  my 
bazoo. 

"Hark!  Hear  ye  yon  lion  roaring  in  his  den?  'Tis 
three  days  since  he  tasted  flesh,  but  to-morrow  he  will  have 
gladiator  on  toast,  and  don't  you  forget  it;  and  he  will  fling 
your  vertebras  about  his  cage  like  the  tar  pitcher  of  a 
champion  nine. 

"If  ye  are  brutes,  then  stand  here  like  fat  oxen  waiting 
for  the  butcher's  knife.  If  ye  are  men,  arise  and  follow  me. 
Strike  down  the  warden  and  the  turnkey,  overpower  the 
police,  and  cut  for  the  tall  timber.  We  will  break  through 
the  city  gate,  capture  the  war-horse  of  the  drunken  Roman, 
flee  away  to  the  lava  beds,  and  there  do  bloody  work,  as  did 
our  sires  at  old  Thermopylae,  scalp  the  western-bound 
emigrant,  and  make  the  hen-roosts  around  Capua  look  sick. 

"  O,  comrades!  warriors!  gladiators!  ! 

"  If  we  be  men,  let  us  die  like  men,  beneath  the  blue  sky, 
and  by  the  still  waters,  and  be  buried  according  to  Gunter, 
instead  of  having  our  shin  bones  polished  off  by  Numidian 
lions,  amid  the  groans  and  hisses  of  a  snide  Roman  populace." 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  171 


CORRESPONDENCE. 


Dalles  of  the  St.  Croix,  September  8,  18S0. 

Yesterday  we  steamed  up  this  beautiful  river  from  Still- 
water, and  as  I  write,  our  boat  is  moored  at  the  head  of 
navigation,  with  the  mighty,  perpendicular  walls  of  the  St. 
Croix,  shutting  in  the  grassy  waters  below,  while  a  hun- 
dred yards  above  us  the  foaming  torrent  is  dashing  against 
the  invincible  fortress  of  smooth,  moss-grown  rocks,  with 
here  and  there  a  somber  pine  or  graceful  spruce  clinging  to 
a  jutting  shelf  midway  between  the  clear,  calm  sky  above 
and  the  roaring,  angry  flood  beneath. 

Most  every  one  has  heard  of  the  wonderful  Dalles  of  the 
St.  Croix.  They  are  not,  however,  the  sole  feature  of  the 
locality  entitled  to  notice.  I  consider  the  entire  picture 
between  Stillwater  and  the  Falls  one  of  surpassing  loveli- 
ness. At  this  season  of  the  year,  the  high,  gray  walls  on 
either  side  of  the  lake  and  river  are  clad  in  garments  of 
green  and  gold,  which  mock  the  pen  of  the  poet,  and  strike 
the  beholder  dumb,  as  he  stands  in  the  roval  presence  of 
autumn. 

The  deep  green  of  the  stately  pine,  stands  side  by  side 
with  the  golden  glory  of  the  poplar,  and  here  and  there  the 
brazen  billows  and  royal  coloring  of  maple  and  oak,  the 
hectic  flush  upon  the  features  of  the  dving  year,  are  spread 
out  between  the  silent  sky  and  the  sandy  beach;  while 
softly  mirrored  in  the  glassy  waters,  the  whole  broad  picture 
colored  by  a  mighty,  master  hand,  and  with  the  myriad  dves 
from  Nature's  inexhaustible  laboratory  lies  repeated,  the 
echo  of  a  thrilling:  vision. 

There  are  two  rival  steamers  plying  on  the  Upper  St. 


1 32 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 


Croix.  I  do  not  remember  their  names,  because  they 
charged  me  full  fare  both  ways.  I  can  see  that  my  memory 
is  failing  a  little  every  day,  and  I  am  getting  more  and 
more  prone  to  forget  those  who  do  not  recognize  my  innate 
and  spontaneous  greatness  at  a  glance,  and  extend  the  usual 
courtesies. 

When  we  came  down  we  towed  a  wheat  barge  loaded 
with  21,000  bushels  of  wheat,  and  it  was  pretty  difficult 
most  of  the  way. 

The  opposition  boat  went  up  the  night  before,  and  had 
taken  up  the  water  with  a  blotting-paper,  so  that  every 
little  while  I  had  to  roll  up  my  pants  about  nine  feet,  and  go 
out  into  the  channel,  and  luff  up  on  the  starboard  watch  of 
the  barge  with  a  jenny  pole  and  bring  her  to,  so  that  she 
could  find  moisture. 

Then  I  had  a  good  deal  of  fun  going  ashore  after  ferns 
when  the  boat  was  aground.  While  the  crew  went  aft  and 
close-reefed  the  smoke-stack  and  hauled  abaft  the  top-gal- 
lant, or  side-tracked  the  wheat  barge,  my  wife  would  send 
me  ashore  to  gather  maiden-hair  ferns,  and  soft,  velvety 
mosses,  and  sad,  yearnful  wood-ticks.  O  how  I  love  to 
crawl  around  through  the  underbrush,  and  tear  my  clothes, 
and  wilt  my  collar,  and  gather  samples  of  lichens,  and  ferns 
and  baled  hay  and  caterpillars  to  decorate  my  Western 
home. 

At  first  I  thought  I  would  not  mention  the  little  domestic 
cloud  that  has  shot  athwart  my  sky,  but  I  cannot  smother  it 
in  my  own  breast  any  longer. 

St.  Croix  Falls  is  on  the  Wisconsin  side  of  the  river  and 
Taylor's  Falls  on  the  Minnesota  side.  They  are  connected 
by  a  toll-bridge  which  charges  you  one  and  a  half  cents 
each  way  for  passage.     One  can  stand  halfway  across  this 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  I33 

bridge  and  see  up  and  down  the  river,  with  the  Devil's  Arm 
Chair  at  his  right  and  the  Dalles  at  his  left.  After  supper 
I  took  a  couple  of  friends  down  to  the  bridge  and  without 
Jetting  them  know  the  treat  that  I  had  in  store  for  them,  I 
went  up  to  the  gate  keeper  and  paid  for  all  three  of  us  both 
ways.  Then  I  told  them  to  enjoy  themselves.  It  was  a 
novel  treat  perhaps  to  throw  open  a  toll-bridge  to  the  en- 
joyment of  one's  friends,  but  I  did  it  with  that  utter  disre- 
gard of  expense  which  has  characterized  my  mining  devel- 
opments in  the  Rocky  Mountains. 

Then  I  took  the  boys  over  across  the  river  and  gave  them 
the  freedom  of  St.  Croix  Falls. 

Jutting  out  into  the  river  south  of  Osceola,  is  a  high, 
rocky  promontory  called  Cedar  Point.  Lonely  and  proud 
like  a  sentinel  of  the  forgotten  past,  there  stands  a  tall  cedar 
tree  on  this  natural  battlement,  devoid  of  foliage  for  some 
distance  up  the  trunk. 

This  tree  was  the  old  mark  that  stood  upon  the  dividing 
line  between  the  Chippewa  and  Sioux  territory.  Below  it, 
in  the  water-worn  rock,  is  a  large  semi-circle,  made  by  the 
action  of  the  river,  and  this  it  was  stated  had  been  the  foot- 
print of  the  horse  upon  which  the  Great  Spirit  had  ridden 
across  the  stream  when  he  drew  the  line  between  these  two 
mighty  nations,  and  set  the  tree  upon  it  to  show  his  children 
the  boundary  between  their  respective  territories.  This  was 
the  Indian  Mason  and  Dixon's  line. 

What  a  wild,  weird  suggestion  of  the  crude  legislation 
and  amateur  statesmanship  of  these  two  nations  rises  up  be- 
fore me  as  I  write,  and  how  I  yearn  to  go  into  the  details 
and  try  to  enter  the  free-for-all  contest  and  match  a  bob-tail 
Caucasian  lie  against  these  moss-grown  prevarications  of  the 
red-man. 


134  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

At  Stillwater,  my  first  wild  impulse  was  to  visit  the  State 
Penitentiary. 

When  I  go  into  a  new  place  I  register  my  name  at  the 
most  expensive  hotel,  and  after  visiting  the  newspaper 
offices  I  hunt  up  the  penitentiary,  if  there  be  one,  and  if  not, 
I  o-o  to  the  cooler.  I  do  not  go  there  under  duress,  as  the 
facetious  reader  might  suggest,  but  I  go  there  voluntarily  to 
see  how  the  criminal  business  of  the  place  is  looking. 

We  went  to  the  warden's  office,  and  talked  with  hian  a 
little  while,  showed  him  that  we  were  not  loaded  with  giant 
powder  and  cross-cut  saws,  and  then  we  were  placed  in 
charge  of  an  usher,  and  sent  through  the  building  to  view 
the  mighty  manufacturing  interests  that  are  carried  on  inside, 
where  the  striped  criminals  silently  and  doggedly  are  mov- 
ing about  at  their  varied  occupations. 

After  awhile  I  got  gloomy  and  began  to  whistle  one  of 
my  tearful  refrains  in  G.  The  usher  told  me  to  please  put 
up  my  whistle,  and  I  did  so,  partly  to  gratify  him  and  partly 
because  he  had  a  temporary  advantage  over  me.  Most 
every  one  who  has  heard  me  whistle  seems  glad  that  his 
lines  have  fallen  in  such  pleasant  places;  but  this  man,  as 
I  afterward  learned,  did  not  know  the  first  principle  of 
music.  He  groped  along  through  life  without  knowing  the 
difference  between  a  symphony  in  B,  and  the  low,  sad  song 
of  the  twilight  cat. 

Pretty  soon  we  came  to  three  men  whose  faces  attracted 
my  attention. 

They  were  the  Younger  brothers.  Their  faces  were 
easy  of  identification  from  the  resemblance  to  wood  cuts  pub- 
lished at  the  time  of  their  capture.  I  stood  silently  looking 
at  them  for  some  time. 

Their  countenances  are  a  study  for  the  reader  of  human 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  135 

character.  Sullen,  grim  and  depraved,  they  impress  the 
beholder  with  their  utter  scorn  for  the  laws  and  usages  of 
the  land.  I  asked  the  usher  if  I  guessed  right;  but  he 
turned  away  and  told  mc  it  was  against  the  rules  of  the 
institution  to  point  out  any  one  to  visitors,  or  identify  the 
convicts  in  any  way.  Then  I  knew  that  I  was  right,  because 
he  was  so  reserved. 

I  gave  one  of  the  men  my  card  and  entered  into  a  con- 
versation with  him.  It  wasn't  much  of  a  conversation,  how- 
ever, because  the  usher  broke  in  on  me,  and  shut  me  off,  as 

it  were. 

The  description  that  I  have  given  of  the  Younger 
brothers  in  this  letter  is  not  over  full,  owing  partly  to  the 
fact  that  the  usher  wouldn't  let  me  be  as  sociable  with  them 
as  I  wanted  to  be;  and  partly  because  I  afterward  discovered, 
casually,  that  they  were  not  the  Younger  brothers. 

Speaking  of  convicts  reminds  me  of  my  experience  with 
a  poor,  ignorant  man  at  Laramie — the  creature  of  circum- 
stances— who  was  sentenced  to  three  years  in  the  Terri- 
torial penitentiary,  for  stealing  a  pair  of  flea-bitten  bronchos. 
He  was  convicted  mainly  on  the  testimony  of  a  man,  who 
was  afterward  sent  up  for  the  same  offence,  and  it  was  the 
general  belief  that  the  first-named  man  was  entirely  inno- 
cent. He  was  trusted  about  the  penitentiary  at  all  times,  and 
allowed  to  go  outside  the  walls  without  guard,  but  never 
betrayed  the  trust  reposed  in  him. 

I  went  to  him  and  talked  with  him.  His  spirits  and 
health  were  broken,  and  he  told  me,  with  tears  in  his  eyes, 
that  he  hoped  only  for  a  merciful  death  to  end  his  sufferings. 
While  acting  as  guard  to  a  party  of  convicts  outside  one  day, 
they  fell  upon  him  and  nearly  killed  him  with  a  huge  stone, 
and  then  leaving  him  bleeding  and  insensible,  they  under- 


1^6  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

He  could  not  tell  of  his  sufferings  without  crying.  I 
undertook  to  enlist  sympathy  for  him,  and  when  I  told  his 
tale  of  misfortune  to  the  governor  and  authorities  in  that 
thrilling  way  of  mine,  I  had  no  difficulty  in  securing  his 
pardon. 

He  came  to  my  office  and  sobbed  out  his  gratitude  till  I 
told  him  it  was  of  no  consequence,  and  begged  him  not  to 
mention  it,  although  it  was  the  proudest  moment  of  my  life. 
He  went  to  work  for  a  citizen  of  Laramie,  with  the  old,  in- 
dustrious, patient  air,  and  I  pointed  him  out  with  pride  to 
my  friends  as  a  man  whom  I  had  rescued  and  brought  back 
to  a  useful  life. 

One  morning,  however,  before  the  pale  dawn  had  streaked 
the  eastern  sky  he  took  his  employer's  team  and  what 
money  there  was  in  the  house  and  struck  out  for  the  Gun- 
nison country.  He  did  not  know  anything  about  mining, 
but  he  had  such  implicit  confidence  in  himself  that  he  started 
out  alone  and  without  letters  of  introduction  to  leading  men 
in  that  country.  It  was  a  good  thing  that  he  did  have  per- 
fect confidence  in  himself,  for  no  one  else  had  much  confi- 
dence in  him  after  that. 

During  that  day  a  good  many  of  my  friends  came  around 
to  see  me.  I  didn't  know  I  had  so  many  friends.  They  all 
seemed  to  be  in  first-rate  spirits.  They  seemed  glad  to  see 
me,  and  laughed  a  good  deal.  Sometimes  I  couldn't  see 
what  they  were  laughing  at,  for  my  horizon  was  shrouded 
in  gloom.     It  don't  take  much  to  make  some  people  laugh. 

I  have  never  felt  perfectly  at  ease  with  Governor  Thayer 
gince  that.  I  know  that  he  regards  me  as  a  confederate 
with  that  man,  and  he  thinks  that  I  got  part  of  the  money 
realized  from  the  sale  of  that  team,  but  I  didn't.  If  it  were 
the  last  statement  I  should  make  on  earth  I  would  still  say? 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 


*37 


as  Heaven  is  my  witness,  that  I  have  never  realized  a  single 
dollar  from  the  sale  of  that  team. 


HE  WENT  OUT  WEST  FOR  HIS  HEALTH. 

In  my  capacity  of  justice  of  the  peace  and  general  whole- 
sale and  retail  dealer   in  fresh,  new-laid   equity  and  even- 
handed  justice,  I    often  meet   with  those    who    have   seen 
better  days,  and  who,  through  the  ever-changing  fortunes 
of  the  west,  have  fallen  lower  and  lower  in  the  social  scale, 
until  they  stand  up  and  are  assessed  as  "common  drunks," 
or  "vags,"  or  "assault  and  batteries,"  with  that  natural  and 
easy  grace  which  comes  only  to  those  who  have  been  before 
the  public  in  that  capacity,  so  numerously,  that  it  has  ceased 
to  indicate  itself  by  the  usual  embarrassment  of  the  amateur. 
Perhaps  no  surging  sentiments  of  pity 
have  stirred  my  very  soul  daring  my  official 
career,   like   those    that    throbbed    wildly 
athwart  my  system  a  few  days  ago. 

It  was  a  case  of  the  most  bitter  disap- 
pointment of  a  young  life.    A  youth  from 
Chicago,  came  to  me,  near  the  close   of 
day.      I  was   just  about  to    lock  up  the 
judicial  scales  for  the  evening,  and  secure 
the  doors  of  the  archives,  preparatory  to 
going  out  and  "shaking"  the  mayor  for 
the  lemonade,  after  which  I  intended  to 
breathe  in  a  little  fresh  atmosphere  and  go 
home  to  dinner. 
It  had  been  a  hard  day  in  the  temple  of 


justice  that  day,  and  the  court  was  weary. 


I38  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

It  had  dealt  out  even-handed  justice  at  regular  rates,  since 
early  morning,  at  so  much  per  deal,  till  fatigue  was  begin- 
ning to  show  itself  in  the  lines  upon  the  broad,  white  brow. 

Therefore,  when  a  halting  step  was  heard  on  the  stair, 
there  was  a  low  murmur  on  the  part  of  the  court,  and  a 
half-surprised  moan  that  sounded  like  the  tail  end  of  an 
affidavit. 

The  young  man  who  entered  the  hallowed  presence  of 
eternal  justice,  and  the  all-pervading  and  dazzling  beauty  of 
the  court  in  its  shirt-sleeves,  was  of  about  medium  stature, 
with  shoes  cut  decollette,  and  Roman-striped  socks  clocked 
with  brocaded  straw-colored  silk. 

He  wore  an  ecru  colored  straw  hat,  with  navy-blue  bro- 
caded band,  and  necktie  of  old  gold,  with  polka  dots  of 
humberta  and  cardinal,  interspersed  with  embroidered  horse- 
shoe and  stirrup  in  coucherde  soleil  and  ultramarine. 

His  hair  was  dark  and  oleaginous,  and  his  shirt  was 
cream  colored  ground,  with  narrow  baby-blue  stripes,  cut- 
away collar,  and  cuffs  that  extended  out  into  space. 

He  also  had  some  other  clothes  on. 

But  over  all,  and  pervading  the  entire  man,  was  the  look 
of  hopelessness  and  corroding  grief.  With  all  his  good 
clothes  on,  he  was  a  hollow  mockery,  for  his  eyes  were 
heavy  with  woe. 

The  nose  also  was  heavy  with  woe. 

This  feature  in  fact  was  more  appropriately  draped  in 
token  of  its  sadness  than  any  of  the  rest.  Few  noses  are  so 
expressive  of  a  general  and  incurable  gloom  as  this  one  was. 
It  had  evidently  at  one  time  been  a  glad,  joyous,  and  buoy- 
ant nose,  buttnow  it  was  despondent  and  low  spirited. 

There  was  a  look  of  goneness  and  utter  desolation  about 
it  that  would  stir  the  better  impulses  of  the  most  heartless. 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG 


X39 


The  feature  had  evidently  tried  to  centralize  itself,  but 
had  failed.  Here  and  there  narrow  strips  of  court-plaster 
had  gone  out  after  it  and  tried  to  win  it  back,  but  they  had 
not  succeeded. 

I  said,  "  Mister,  there  seems  to  be  a  panic  among  your 
nose.  It's  none  of  my  business,  of  course,  but  couldn't  you 
get  a  brass  band  and  call  it  together?  Then  you  could  hold 
a  meeting  and  decide  whether  it  had  better  resume  or  not." 

The  gentleman  from  Chicago  went  through  the  motions 
of  wiping  the  wide  waste  and  howling  desolation  where  his 
once  joyous  nose  had  been,  and  then,  putting  away  the 
plum-colored  silk  handkerchief  with  the  orange  border,  he 
said 

"  'Squire,  I  have  been  grossly  deceived.  You  see  in  me 
the  victim  of  a  base  misrepresentation.  In  Chicago  this 
season  of  the  year  is  extremely  unhealthy.  The  intense  hot 
weather  carries  away  the  innocent  and  the  good,  and  I 
feared  that  my  turn  would  come  soon. 

"  I  heard  of  the  salubrious  clime  of  your  mountain  city, 
where  the  days  are  filled  with  gladness  and  the  burning 
heat  of  the  mighty  city  by  the  inland  sea  never  comes. 

"  I  came  here  two  brief  days  ago,  and  you  can  see  with 
the  naked  eye  what  the  result  has  been. 

"  It  is  not  gratifying.  The  climate  may  in  the  abstract 
be  all  right,  but  there  are  certain  sudden  and  wonderful  at- 
mospheric changes  that  I  cannot  account  for,  and  they  are 
very  disastrous. 

"  I  was  sitting  in  a  Second  Street  saloon  to-day,  talking 
about  matters  and  things,  when  the  conversation  turned  on 
physical  strength.  One  thing  led  to  another,  and  finally  I 
made  a  little  humorous  remark  to  a  young  man  there,  which 
remark  I  have  made  in  Chicago  many  times  without  disas- 


I40  BILL   NYE   AND   BOOMERANG. 

trous  results,  but  the  air  clouded  up  all  of  a  sudden,  and  in 
the  darkness  I  could  see  Roman  candles  going  off  and  pin- 
wheels  and  high-priced  rockets  and  blue-lights,  etc. 

"  Shortly  after  that  I  gathered  up  what  fragments  of  my 
face  I  could  find  and  went  down  to  the  doctor's  office. 

"  He  held  an  inquest  on  my  nose,  and  I  paid  for  it. 

"  I  shall  go  back  to  Chicago  to-morrow.  I  shall  not  be 
tts  handsome  as  I  was,  but  I  have  gained  a  good  deal  of  in- 
formation about  the  broad  and  beautiful  west  which  is  price- 
less in  value  to  me. 

"  All  I  wished  to  say  was  this;  if  you  see  fit  to  mention 
this  matter  to  the  public,  tone  it  down  as  much  as  possible, 
and  say  that  Sor  a  bilious,  nervous  temperament,  perhaps  the 
air  here  is  too  bracing." 

I  have  considered  his  sensitive  feelings,  and  have  tried  to 
give  the  above  account  in  fair  and  impartial  terms. 


A  OTXET  LITTLE  WEDDING  WITHOUT  ANY  FRILLS 

Another  class  of  those  who  frequent  the  temple  of 
justice  includes  those  who  are  in  search  of  matrimony  at 
reduced  rates. 

I  remember  one  unostentatious  little  wedding  which  took 
place  at  the  general  headquarters  of  municipal  jurisprudence, 
over  which  I  preside,  and  during  the  earlier  history  of  my 
reign. 

It  was  quite  a  success  in  a  small  way. 

I  had  just  moved  into  the  office,  and  had  been  engaged 
that  morning  in  putting  up  a  stove.  The  stove  had  seemed 
reluctant,  and  as  my  assistant  was  sociably  drunk,  I  had  not 


BILL   NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  I4I 

succeeded  very  well. 

The  pipe  didn't  seem  to  be  harmonious,  and  the  effort  to 
bring  about  a  union  between  the  discordant  elements,  had 
not,  up  to  the  time  of  hich  I  speak,  produced  any  very 
gratify  in  a-  results. 

I  had  reached  down  into  the  elbow  of  the  pipe  several 
times,  to  see  how  it  felt  down  there,  and  after  satisfying  my 
morbid  curiosity  in  that  respect,  I  had  yielded  to  a  wild  and 
uncontrollable  desire  to  scratch  my  nose  with  the  same 
hand. 

This  had  given  me  an  air  of  intense  sadness,  and  opaque 
gloom. 

I  stood  on  the  top  of  a  step-ladder  trying  to  make  the  end 
of  a  six-inch  joint  of  pipe  go  into  the  end  of  a  five-inch  joint, 
when  the  groom  entered.  He  wanted  to  know  if  he  could 
see  the  general  manager,  and  I  told  him  he  could  if  he  had 
a  piece  of  smoked  glass,  and  a  $5  promissory  note  executed 
by  old  man  Spinner. 

Then  he  told  me  how  he  was  fixed.  He  desired  a  small 
package  of  connubial  bliss,  and  without  delay. 

The  necessary  preliminaries  were  arranged;  the  groom 
made  an  extempore  effort  to  spit  id  the  mosaic  cuspidore, 
but  was  only  partially  successful,  put  on  his  hat  and  went 
out  in  search  of  Juliet. 

She  was  very  unique  in  her  style,  and  entirely  free  from 
any  effort  to  appear  to  the  best  advantage. 

She  wore  her  hair  plain,  a  la  Sitting  Bull.  It  had  been 
banged,  but  not  with  any  great  degree  of  system  or  accur- 
acy. Probably  it  had  been  done  with  the  pinking-iron  or 
a  pair  of  ice-tongs  by  an  amateur  banger. 

She  looked  some  like  Mrs.  Bender,  only  younger  and 
more  queenly,  perhaps. 


142 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 


She  swept  into  the  arena  with  the  symmetrical  movement 
and  careless  grace  of  a  hired  man — only  her  steps  were 
lowsfcr  and  less  methodical. 

Both  bride  and  groom  had  come  through  with  a  band  of 
emigrants  from  Kansas,  and,  therefore,  they  were  out  of 
swallow-tail  coats  and  orange  blossoms. 

There  was  no  airy  tulle  and  shimmering  satin,  or  broad- 
cloth and  spike-tail  coat  in  the  procession;  at  least  there 
was  none  visible  to  the  court. 

The  groom  was  bronzed  and  bearded  like  a  pard,  what- 
ever that  is,  and  wore  a  pair  of  brown-duck  overalls,  caught 
back  with  copper  rivets  and  held  in  place  by  a  lonely  sus- 
pender. He  also  wore  a  hickory  shirt  with  stripes  running 
vertically.  His  hair  looked  like  burnished  gold,  only  he 
hadn't  burnished  it  much  since  he  left  Kansas. 

The  entire  emigrant  train  dropped  in  one  by  one  to  wit- 
ness the  ceremony,  and  seemed  impressed  writh  the  over- 
shadowing and  awe-inspiring  nature  of  the  surroundings. 

One  by  one  they  filed  in,  and,  making  their  little  contri- 
bution to  the  mosaic  cuspidore,  they  leaned  themselves  up 
against  the  wall  and  wrapped  themselves  in  thought. 

1  bandaged  my  finger,  which  I  had  skinned  some  in  put- 
ting the  stove  together,  wiped  off  what  soot  and  ashes  I  had 
about  my  person  and  thought  I  would  not  need,  and  boldly 
solidified  these  two  young  hearts. 

The  ceremony  was  not  very  impressive,  but  it  did  the  re- 
quired amount  of  damage.    That  was  all  that  was  necessary. 

The  applicants  seemed  to  miss  the  wedding-march  and 
some  other  little  preparatory  arrangements,  which  I  had 
overlooked,  but  I  apologized  to  them  afterward,  and  told 
them  that  when  times  picked  up  a  little,  and  I  got  estab- 
lished, and  the  new  fee-bill  went  into  operation,  I  would  at- 
tend to  these  things. 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  143 

The  wedding  presents  were  not  numerous,  but  they  were 
useful,  and  showed  the  good  sense  of  the  donors. 

The  bride's  mother  gave  her  one  of  the  splint-bottom 
chairs  that  one  always  sees  tied  to  the  rear  of  every  well 
regulated  emigrant  wagon,  and  her  father  gave  her  a  cream- 
colored  dog,  with  one  eye  knocked  out. 

With  his  overflowing  wealth  of  flea-bitten  dogs,  he 
might  have  done  much  better  by  her  than  he  did,  but  he 
said  he  would  wait  a  few  years  and  if  she  were  poor  enough 
to  need  more  dogs,  he  would  not  be  parsimonious. 

The  young  couple  went  up  on  Coyote  Creek  and  went 
to  housekeeping,  and  years  have  gone  by  since  without 
word  from  them. 

In  the  turmoil  and  hurry  of  life,  I  had  almost  forgotten 
them  until  Cole's  circus  was  in  town  the  other  day. 

That  brought  them  to  light. 

They  had  done  well  in  the  dog  business,  and  had  suc- 
ceeded in  promoting  the  growth  of  a  new  kind  of  meek  and 
lowly  dog,  with  sore  places  on  him  for  homeless  and  orphan 

flies. 

They  also  had  several  children  with  reddish  hair  and  large, 

wilted  ears. 

The  youngest  one  was  quite  young,  and  cried  when  the 
calliope  burst  into  a  wild  rhapsody  of  Nancy  Lee. 

When  I  saw  the  family,  the  mother  was  eagerly  watching 
the  parade,  and  at  the  same  time  trying  to  broil  the  baby's 
nose  in  the  sun.  It  was  almost  done,  when  I  was  called 
away  by  other  business,  so  I  cannot  say  positively  whethel 
the  child  was  taken  home  rare  or  well-done. 


144  BILL  NYE   And   feOOMEfcAttG* 

THOUGHTS  ON  SPRIN& 

Spring  is  the  most  joyful  season  of  the  year.  The  little 
brooklets  are  released  from  their  icy  fetters^  and  go  laughing 
and  rippling  along  their  winding  way*  The  birds  begin  to 
eing  in  the  budding  branches,  and  the  soft  South  wind  calls 
forth  the  green  grass. 

The  husbandman  then  goes  forth  to  dig  the  horseradish 
for  his  frugal  meal.  He  also  jabs  his  finger  into  the  rosebud 
mouth  of  the  wild-eyed  calf,  and  proceeds  to  wean  him  from 
the  gentle  cow.  The  cow-boy  goes  forth  humming  a 
jocund  lay.  So  does  the  hen.  Boys  should  not  go  near  the 
hen  while  she  is  occupied  with  her  tuneful  lay.  She  might 
seize  them  by  the  off  ear,  and  bear  them  away  to  her  den, 
and  feed  them  to  her  young.  The  hen  rises  early  in  the 
morning  so  as  to  catch  the  swift-footed  angleworm  as  he 
flits  from  flower  to  flower.     The  angleworm  cannot  bite. 

In  the  spring  the  young  man's  fancy  turns  to  thoughts  of 
love.     Love  is  a  good  thing. 

The  picnic  plant  will  soon  lift  its  little  head  to  the  sun- 
shine, and  the  picnic  manager  will  go  out  and  survey  the 
country,  to  find  where  the  most  God-forsaken  places  are, 
and  then  he  will  get  up  an  excursion  to  some  of  these 
picturesque  mud-holes  and  sand-piles;  and  the  man  who 
swore  last  year  that  he  would  never  go  to  another  picnic, 
will  pack  up  some  mustard,  and  bay  rum,  and  pickles,  and 
glycerine,  and  a  lap-robe,  and  some  camphor,  and  a  spy- 
glass, and  some  court-plaster;  and  he  will  heave  a  sigh  and 
go  out  to  the  glens  and  rural  retreats,  and  fill  his  skin  full  of 
Tolu,  Rock  and  Rye,  and  hatred  toward  all  mankind  and 
womankind ;  and  he  will  skin  his  hands,  and  try  to  rub  the 
downy  fluff  and  bloom  from  a  cactus  by  sitting  down  on  it. 


BILL   NYE    AXD    ttoOMLUANG.  I45 

I  have  attended  picnics  regularly  for  nearly  ten  years  now, 
and  I  am  a  man  of  a  good  deal  of  firmness,  too,  but  I  cannot 
hold  a  cactus  down  on  the  ground  with  my  entire  weight, 
any  better  than  when  I  first  began;  and  I  feel  that  I  am 
getting  farther  and  farther  from  redeeming  grace. 

With  the  approach  of  spring  the  correspondence  between 
myself  and  Mr.  Le  Due  begins  to  get  more  brisk  also.  He 
writes  me  under  date  of  March  20,  saying  that  he  is  prepar- 
ing for^i  more  vigorous  campaign  this  summer  than  ever 
before.  He  thinks  the  clip  from  his  Cotswold  hydraulic 
rams  will  exceed  that  of  any  previous  year.  He  will  also 
experiment  in  a  scientific  manner  to  perfect  the  laying  of 
fancy  Easter  porcelain  and  decorated  China  eggs  by  Cochin 
China  fowls.  If  they  cannot  manage  it  he  will  try  some 
experiments  on  the  egg  plant.  Mr.  Le  Due  is  a  man  who 
is  not  easily  discouraged  by  small  obstacles.  He  will  watch 
the  habits  of  the  grasshopper  and  curculio  and  bed-bug,  also 
with  great  assiduity.  I  have  begged  him  to  transfer  the 
bed-bug  to  the  Indian  Department.  He  always  regards  my 
suggestions  very  favorably,  because,  as  he  says,  I  am  "  so 
practical." 

We  are  going  to  devote  a  part  of  the  summer  to  grafting 
the  saddle-rock  oyster  on  the  vegetable  oyster-plant,  and 
will  spare  no  pains  to  secure  an  inland  oyster  that  will 
stand  this  dry  air  and  high,  rigorous  climate. 


THE  SAME  OLD  THING. 

Recently  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  acting  as  chief 
mourner  at  a  mountain  picnic.  This  subject  has  been  pretty 
well  represented  in  romance  and  song  already;  but  I  ven« 


146 


BILL   NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 


tu re   to  give   my   experience   as  being  a  little   out   of  the 
ordinary. 

The  joy  which  is  experienced  in  the  glad,  free  life  of  the 
picnicker  is  always  before  the  picnic.  On  the  evening 
before  he  makes  the  excursion,  he  is  too  full  of  sacred  plea- 
sure and  lavender  "colored  tranquillity  for  anything. 

He  glides  about  the  house,  softly  warbling  to  himself  the 
fragment  of  some  tender  love  song,  while  he  packs  the 
corkscrews  and  matches,  and  other  vegetables  for  the 
morrow. 

I  was  placed  in  command  of  a  party  of  ladies  who  had 
everything  arranged  so  that  all  I  needed  to  do  would  be  to 
get  into  the  buggy  and  drive  to  the  mountains,  eat  my  lunch, 
and  drive  back  again. 

I  like  to  go  with  a  party  of  ladies,  because  they  never 
make  suggestions  about  the  route,  or  how  to  drive.  They 
are  just  as  full  of  gentle  trust  and  child-like  confluence  and 
questions  as  they  can  be. 

They  get  the 
lunch  ready  and 
get  into  the  buggy, 
and  keep  thinking 
of  things  they  have 
forgotten,  till  they 
get  400  miles  from 
home,  and  they  sing 
little  pieces  of  old 
,<g?  songs,  and  won't  let 
the  great,  horrid 
man    in    charge    of 

PICNIC.  m  ■        ° 

the    excursion   have 
any  lunch  when  he  gets  hungry,  because  they  are  hunting 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  I47 

for  a  romantic  spot  beneath  the  boughs  of  a  magnificent  elm, 
while  every  sane  man  in  the  Territory  knows  that  there 
isn't  an  elm  big  or  little,  within  1,4321^  miles. 

We  went  up  in  the  mountains,  because  we  wanted  to  go 
where  it  would  be  cool.  As  a  search  for  a  cool  resort,  this 
picnic  of  ours  was  the  most  brilliant  success.  We  kept 
going  up  at  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees  from  the  time  we 
left  home  until  we  had  to  get  out  and  walk  to  keep  warm. 
We  got  into  one  of  the  upper  strata  of  clouds;  and  a  cold 
mist  mixed  with  fragments  of  ice-cream,  and  large  chunks 
of  hail  and  misery,  about  the  size  of  a  burglar-proof  safe 
came  gathering  over  us.  Then  we  camped  in  the  midst  of 
the  mountain  storm,  and  the  various  ladies  sat  down  on  their 
feet,  and  put  the  lap-robes  over  them,  and  looked  reproach- 
fully at  me.  We  hovered  around  under  the  buggy,  and  two 
or  three  little  half-grown  parasols,  and  watched  the  storm. 
It  was  a  glorious  spectacle  to  the  thinking  mind. 

They  began  to  abuse  me  because  I  did  not  make  a  circus 
of  myself,  and  thus  drive  away  the  despair  and  misery  of 
the  occasion.  They  had  brought  me  along,  it  seemed,  be- 
cause I  was  such  an  amusing  little  cuss.  It  made  me  a  good 
deal  sadder  than  I  would  have  been  otherwise.  Here  in  the 
midst  of  a  wild  and  bitter  mountain  storm,  so  thick  that  you 
couldn't  see  twenty  yards  away,  with  nothing  to  eat  but 
some  marble  cake  soaked  in  vinegar,  and  a  piece  of  cold 
tongue  with  a  red  ant  on  it,  I  was  expected  to  make  a  hip- 
podrome and  negro  minstrel  show  of  myself.  I  burst  into 
tears,  and  tried  to  sit  on  my  feet  as  the  ladies  did.  I  couldn't 
do  it,  so  simultaneously  and  so  extemporaneously,  as  it  were, 
as  they  could.  I  had  to  take  thnm  by  sections  and  sit  on 
them.  My  feet  are  not  large,  bul  at  the  same  time  I  cannot 
hover  over  them  both  at  the  sam<  time* 


I  ^8  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

De-A  reader,  did  you  ever  sit  amidst  the  silence  and  soli- 
tude of  -he  mountains  and  feel  the  hailstones  rolling  down 
your  back,  melting  and  soothing  you,  and  filling  your  heart 
with  great  surging  thoughts  of  the  sweet  bye-and-bye,  and 
death,  and  the  grave,  and  other  mirth-provoking  topics? 
We  had  now  been  about  two  hundred  years  without  food, 
it  seemed  to  me,  and  I  mildly  suggested  that  I  would  like 
something  to  eat  rather  than  die  of  starvation  in  the  midst 
of  plenty;  but  the  ladies  wouldn't  give  me  so  much  as  a 
sam  handwich  to  preserve  my  life.  They  told  me  to  smoke 
if  I  felt  that  I  must  have  nourishment,  and  coldly  refused 
to  let  me  sample  the  pickled  spiders  and  cold-pressed  flies. 

So  fn  the  midst  of  all  this  prepared  food  I  had  to  go  out 
into  the  sagebrush  and  eat  raw  grasshoppers  and  grease- 
wood. 

Bye  and  bye,  when  we  concluded  that  we  had  seen 
about  all  the  mountain  storm  we  needed  in  our  business,  and 
didn't  pine  for  any  more  hail-stones  and  dampness,  we 
hitched  up  again  and  started  home.  Then  we  got  lost. 
The  ladies  felt  indignant,  but  I  was  delighted.  I  never  was 
so  lost  in  all  my  life.  When  I  was  asked  where  I  thought 
I  was,  I  could  cheerfully  reply  that  I  didn't  know,  and  that 
would  stop  the  conversation  for  as  much  as  two  minutes. 

The  beauty  of  being  lost  is  that  you  are  all  the  time  see- 
ing new  objects.  There  is  a  charm  of  noveltv  about  being 
lost  that  one  does  not  fully  understand  until  he  has  been 
there,  so  to  speak. 

When  I  would  say  that  I  didn't  know  where  the  road 
led  to  that  we  were  traveling,  one  of  the  party  would  sug- 
gest with  mingled  bitterness  and  regret,  thut  we  had  better 
turn  back,  Then  I  would  turn  back*  I  turned  back  seven- 
teen thnm  «t  the  request  of  various  members  of  the  party 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  I49 

for  whom  I  had,  and  still  have,  the  most  unbounded  respect. 

Finally  we  got  so  accustomed  to  the  various  objects  along 
this  line  of  travel,  that  we  pined  for  a  change.  Then  we 
drove  ahead  a  little  farther  and  found  the  road.  It  had  been 
there  all  the  time.     It  is  there  yet. 

I  never  had  so  much  fun  in  all  my  life.  It  don't  take 
much  to  please  me,  however.  I'm  of  a  cheerful  disposition, 
anyhow. 

Some  of  the  ladies  brought  home  columbines  that  had 
been  drowned ;  others  brought  home  beautiful  green  mosses 
with  red  bugs  in  them ;  and  others  brought  home  lichens  and 
ferns  and  neuralgia. 

I  didn't  bring  anything  home.  I  was  glad  to  get  home 
myself,  and  know  that  I  was  all  there. 

I  took  the  lunch  basket  and  examined  it.  It  looked  sick 
and  unhappy.  At  first  I  thought  I  would  pick  the  red  ants 
out  of  the  lunch;  then  I  thought  it  would  save  time  to  pick 
the  lunch  out  of  the  red  ants ;  but  finally  I  thought  I  would 
compromise,  bv  throwing  the  whole  thing  into  the  alley. 

I  am  now  preparing  a  work  to  be  called  the  "  Pick 
Nicker's  Guide;  or  Starvation  Made  Easy  and  Even  Desir- 
able!" It  will  supply  a  want  long  felt,  and  will  be  within 
the  reach  of  all. 


THE  VETERAN    WHO    DIED    WHILE    GETTING    HIS 

PENSION. 

Mnay  years  ago,  when  business  in  my  office  was  not 
very  rushing,  and  time  hung  heavy  on  my  hands^  before  I 
had  attempted  journalism,  and  no  dream  of  my  present  daz- 
zling literary  success  Hsfcl  Sriterrd  my  mind,  I  rashly  offered 


150  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

to  assist  applicants  for  pensions  in  attracting  the  attention  of 
the  general  government,  at  so  much  per  head. 

One  hot  day  in  July  while  I  sat  in  my  office  killing  flies 
with  an  elastic  band  and  wondering  if  my  mines  would  ever 
be  quoted  in  the  market,  a  middle-aged  man  came  in  and, 
spitting  calmly  into  the  porcelain  cuspidore,  began  to  tell 
me  about  his  service  as  a  soldier,  and  how  he  was  wounded, 
and  wished  to  secure  a  pension. 

He  said  that  several  attorneys  had  already  tried  to  procure 
one  for  him,  but  had  failed  to  do  so,  giving  up  in  despair. 
I  examined  the  wound,  which  consisted  of  a  large  hole  in 
the  skull,  caused  by  a  gun-shot  wound.  He  was  almost  en- 
tirely prevented  by  this  wound  from  obtaining  a  livelihood, 
because  he  was  liable  at  any  moment  to  fall  insensible  to  the 
ground,  as  the  result  of  exercise  or  work.  I  told  him  that 
I  would  snatch  a.  few  moments  from  my  arduous  duties  and 
proceed  to  do  as  he  requested  me. 

Then  I  began  a  very  brisk  correspondence  with  the  In- 
terior Department.  I  would  write  to  the  Commissioner  of 
Pensions  in  my  vivacious  but  firm  manner  and  he  would 
send  me  back  a  humorous  little  circular  showing-  me  that  I 
had  been  too  hasty  and  premature.  I  never  got  mad  or 
forgot  myself  but  began  a  little  farther  back  in  the  history 
of  the  world,  and  gradually  led  up  to  the  war  of  the  rebel- 
lion. 

In  reply  the  Commissioner  would  write  back  to  me  that 
my  chronological  table  was  at  fault  and  I  would  cheerfully 
correct  the  error  and  proceed. 

At  this  time,  however,  my  client  became  a  little  despond- 
ent, several  years  having  elapsed  since  we  began  our  task. 
So  to  my  other  labors  I  had  to  add  that*  of  cheering  up  the 
applicant* 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  ICI 

Time  dragged  its  slow  length  along.  Months  succeeded 
months  and  the  years  sped  on. 

The  Interior  Department  never  forgot  me.  Every  little 
while  I  would  get  a  printed  circular  boiling  over  with  mirth 
and  filled  with  the  most  delightful  conundrums  relative  to 
the  late  unpleasantness.  These  conundrums  I  would  have 
my  client  answer  and  swear  to  every  time,  although  I  could 
see  that  he  was  failing  mentally  and  physically.  He  would 
come  into  my  office  almost  every  day,  and  silently  raise  his 
right  hand  and  with  uncovered  head  stand  there  in  a  rever- 
ent attitude  for  me  to  swear  him  to  something.  Sometimes 
I  had  nothing  for  him  to  swear  to,  and  then  I  would  make 
him  take  the  oath  of  allegiance  and  send  him  away.  I 
wanted  to  keep  him  loyal  if  I  could,  whether  he  got  his 
pension  or  not. 

The  last  work  had  been  nearly  completed,  and  the  claim 
had  been  turned  over  to  the  Surgeon-General's  office,  when 
the  applicant  yielded  to  the  crumbling  effect  of  relentless 
time,  and  took  to  his  bed. 

It  was  a  sad  moment  for  me.  I  could  not  keep  back  the 
silent  tears  when  I  saw  the  old  man  lying  there  so  still  and 
so  helpless,  and  remembered  how  rosy,  and  strong,  and 
happy  he  looked  years  and  years  ago,  when  he  first  asked 
me  to  apply  for  his  pension. 

I  wrote  the  Department  that  if  the  claims  could  be  passed 
upon  soon,  I  would  keep  my  client  up  on  stimulants  a  short 
time,  but  that  he  was  failing  fast.  Then  I  went  to  the  bed- 
side of  the  old  man,  and  watched  him  tenderly. 

When  he  saw  me  come  into  his  room,  although  he  could 
not  talk  any  more,  he  would  feebly 'raise  his  right  hand,  and 
I  would  swear  him  to  support  the  Constitution  of  the  United 
States,  and  then  he  would  be  easier,      It  seemed  to  me  like 


*5* 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 


a  ghastly  joke  for  the  old  man  to  swear  he  would  support 
the  Constitution  of  the  United  States,  when  he  couldn't 
begin  to  support  his  own  constitution;  but  I  never  men- 
tioned it  to  him. 

At  last  the  blow  fell.  The  Surgeon-General  wrote  me 
that  owing  to  the  lack  of  clerical  aid  in  that  office,  and  a  fail- 
ure of  Congress  to  make  any  appropriation  for  that  purpose, 
he  was  behind  hand,  and  could  not  possibly  reach  the  claim 
referred  to  before  the  close  of  the  following  year. 

Then  the  old  man  passed  into  the  great  untried  realm  of 
the  hereafter.     But  he  was  prepared. 

With  the  aid  of  the  government,  I  had  given  him  an  idea 
of  Eternity  and  its  vastness,  which  could  not  fail  to  be  of 
priceless  benefit  to  him. 

After  the  government  had  used  this  pension  money  as 
long  as  it  needed  it,  and  was,  so  to  speak,  once  more  on  it6 
feet,  the  money  was  sent,  and  the  old  man's  great-grand- 
children got  it,  and  purchased  a  lawn-mower,  a  Mexican 
hairless  dog,  and  some  other  necessaries  of  life  with  it. 

I  am  now  out  of  the  pension  business.  It  is  a  good  thing, 
for  I  find  that  I  am  too  impatient  to  attend  to  it.  I  am  too 
anxious  for  tangible  results  in  the  near  future.  My  desire 
to  accomplish  anything  speedily  is  too  violent  and  too 
previous. 

GINGERBREAD  POEMS  AND  COLD  PICKLED  FACTS. 

In  an  old  number  of  Harper's  Magazine,  will  be  found  a 
little  poem  upon  the  subject  of  Joseph,  the  chief  of  the  Nez 
Perces.  There  is  a  kind  of  mellow  and  subdued  heroic  light 
cast  over  the  Unal  defeat  of  this  great  North  American 
librae  thief*  which  k  in  perfectly  pkasing  harmony  with  th'fl 


BILL   NYE    AND    .BOOMERANG*  153 

New  England  idea  of  the  noble  unlettered  relic  »f  a  defunct 
race.  This  soft- voiced  poet,  who  probably  knows  about  as 
much  of  the  true  occidental  pig-stealer,  as  the  latter  does 
about  the  Electoral  College,  starts  out  this  little  brass- 
mounted  epic  in  the  following  elegant  style  oi  prevarication: 

From  the  northern  desolation, 

Comes  the  cry  of  exultation, 
It  has  ended — he  has  yielded,  and  the  stubborn  fight  U  won. 

Let  the  nation  in  its  glory, 

Bow  with  shame  before  the  story 
Of  the  hero  it  has  ruined,  and  the  evil  it  has  done. 

It  is  too  true  that  here  in  the  wild  West  people  haven't 
the  advantages  that  are  accorded  to  the  East,  and  in  our 
uncouth  ignorance,  and  meager  facilities  for  obtaining  infor- 
mation, we  are,  no  doubt,  too  prone  to  ascribe  to  the  hostile 
inebriate  of  the  plains  a  character  which  does  not  compare 
very  favorably  with  the  boss  hero  in  the  poem  hereto 
attached,  and  marked  "  Exhibit  A."  But  the  people  on  the 
frontier  should  not  set  themselves  up  to  judge  what  they 
know  nothing  of.  Why  should  frontiersmen,  without  col- 
leges, without  observatories,  without  telescopes,  or  loga- 
rithms, or  protoplasms,  or  spectroscopes,  or  heliotropes,  how 
should  they,  I  ask,  who  can  lay  no  claim  to  anything  but 
that  they  are  poor,  unsophisticated,  grasshopper  sufferers; 
with  nothing  to  refer  to  but  the  naked  facts — the  ruins  of 
their  desolated  homes,  and  the  ghastly,  mutilated  corpses  of 
their  wives  end  children — try  to  compete  with  the  venerable 
philosophers  who  live  where  the  Patent  Office  reports  are 
made,  and  within  the  shadow  of  the  building  In  which  the 
Illustrated  Police  Gazette  and  other  such  reliable  authorities 
have  treir  birth,  and  in  which  are  illustrated  with  graphic 


154  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

skill,  the  Indian  raids  of  the  border,  using  the  same  old  cut 
which  is  taken  from  the  "  Death  of  Captain  Cook,"  to  illus- 
trate every  Indian  outbreak  from  Nebraska  to  Oregon. 

Is  it  nothing  forsooth  for  a  nomadic  race  of  buffalo  slay- 
ers and  maple  sugar  makers  and  cranberry  pickers  to  rise 
from  the  dust  and  learn  to  love  the  wise  institutions  of  a  free 
government?  To  lay  aside  the  old  hickory  bow  of  the 
original  red  man  and  take  up  the  improved  breech-loader? 
To  take  kindly  to  mixed  drinks  and  Sabbath  school  picnics 
and  temperance  lectures  and  base-ball  matches?  To  live 
contentedly  about  the  agencies,  playing  poker  for  the  whis- 
kies during  the  cold  and  cruel  winter?  Then  when  the  Sflad 
song  of  the  robin  awakes  the  echoes  in  spring,  and  the  air 
is  filled  with  a  thousand  nameless  odors,  among  which  may 
be  detected  the  balmy  breath  of  the  government  sock,  to 
hie  him  away  to  the  valleys  with  his  fishing  rod  and  flies 
(and  other  curious  insects),  or  to  spend  the  glorious  days  of 
midsummer  at  the  camp-meeting  or  the  horse-race?  We 
can  never  know  how  his  poor  heart  must  burn  to  kick  off 
his  box-toed  boots  and  throw  aside  his  dress  coat  and  sus- 
penders, and  gallop  over  the  green  hills  and  kick  up  his 
heels  and  whoop  and  yell,  and  tear  out  the  tongues  of  a  few 
white  women  and  be  sociable. 

They  are  indeed  the  nation's  wards,  a  little  frisky  and 
playful  at  times,  to  be  sure,  but  we  must  overlook  that. 
There  can  be  no  reason  nor  justice  in  forbidding  these  free- 
born  descendants  of  these  mighty  races  the  inalienable  right 
to  lock  up  their  front  doors  at  the  agency  and  put  the  key 
in  their  pockets,  and  light  out,  if  they  wish  to,  across  the 
country,  spreading  gory  desolation  along  their  trail,  eating 
the  farmers'  hard  earned  store,  pillaging  his  home,  murder- 
ing hi9  household,  burning  his  crops,  riding  their  war  hors«s 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  155 

over  his  watermelon  vines,  eating  his  winter  preserves, 
scalping  the  hired  man  and  wearing  away  the  farmer's 
red-flannel  undershirt  wrong  side  to,  and  wrong  side  up  if 
they  want  to.  And  if  any  ignorant  upstart  of  the  frontier, 
who  feels  a  little  sore  over  the  loss  of  his  family,  undertakes 
to  defraud  these  wild,  free  sons  of  the  forest  of  any  or  all  of 
their  rights,  let  the  lop-eared,  slab-sided,  knock-kneed,  cross- 
eyed, spavined,  lantern-jawed,  sway-backed,  mangy,  flannel- 
mouthed  poet  of  the  educated  and  refined  East  write  poetry 
about  him  till  he  is  glad  to  apologize. 


ORIGIN  OF  BEAUTIFUL  SNOW, 

The  following  letter  is  from  Captain  Jack  relative  to  the 
expedition  under  his  charge,  sent  out  for  the  purpose  of 
bringing  in  the  murdering  group  of  Utes,  against  whom  the 
government  seems  to  maintain  a  feeling,  it  not  of  enmity,  at 
least  of  coolness,  and  perhaps  unfriendliness. 

The  Indian  is  not  generally  supposed  to  be  a  humorist,  or 
inclined  to  be  facetious;  but  the  letter  below  would  seem  to 
indicate  that  there  is,  at  the  least,  a  kind  of  grim,  rough,  un- 
couth attempt  on  his  part  to  make  a  paragrapher  of  himself. 

I  am  not  at  liberty  to  give  my  reasons  to  the  public  for  the 
publication  of  this  letter;  nor  even  the  manner  of  securing 
it.  Those  to  whom  my  word  has  been  passed  relative  to  a 
strict  secrecy  on  my  part  in  the  above  connection,  shall  not 
be  betrayed.  Friends  who  know  me  are  aware  that  my 
word  is  as  good  as  my  bond,  and  even  better  than  my  prom- 
issory note. 

On  the  Wing,  February  i,  1SS0. 

Dear  Sir:— I  have  a  little  leisure  in  which  to  write  of 


t^b  bill  nye  And  boomer AtfG. 

our  journey,  and  will  dictate  this  letter  to  an  amanuensis. 
[Amanuensis  is  a  Ute  word;  but  you  will  understand  it  in 
this  connection.     It  does  not  mean  anything  wrong.] 

We  find  much  snow  through  the  mountains,  which 
impedes  our  progress  very  materially.  We  crossed  a  canon 
yesterday  where  there  was  a  good  deal.  I  should  think 
there  might  be  1,500  feet  in  depth  of  it.  It  filled  the  canon 
up  full,  and  bulged  up  ten  or  fifteen  feet  above  the  sides. 
I  composed  a  short  poem  about  it.  I  knew  that  it  was 
wrong  to  do  so;  but  almost  every  one  else  has  composed  a 
poem  on  the  beautiful  snow,  then  why  should  I,  although  I 
have  not  taken  out  my  naturalization  papers,  ?*  darned  the 
sweet  solace  of  song  ?     I  said : 

O  drifted  whiteness  covering 

The  fair  face  of  nature, 

Pure  as  the  sigh  of  a  blessed  spirit 

On  the  eternal  shores,  you 

Glitter  in  the  summer  sun 

Considerable.     My  mortal 

Ken  seems  weak  and 

Helpless  in  the  midst  of 

Your  dazzling  splendor, 

And  I  would  hide  my 

Diminished  head  like 

Serf  unclothed  in  presence 

Of  his  mighty  King. 

You  lie  engulphed 
Within  the  cold  embrace 
Of  rocky  walls  and  giant 
Clifts.     You  spread  out 
Your  white  mantle  and 
Enwrap  the  whole  broad 
Universe,  and  a  portion 
Of  York  State. 


BILL   NYE   AND    BOOMERANG.  ttf 

You  seem  content, 
Resting  in  silent  whiteness 
On  the  frozen  breast  of 
The  cold,  dead  earth.     You 
Think  apparently  that 
You  are  middling  white; 
But  once  I  was  in  the 
Same  condition.      I  was 
Pure  as  the  beautiful  snow, 
But  I  fell.      It  was  a 
Right  smart  fall,  too. 
It  churned  me  up  a 
Good  deal  and  nearly- 
Knocked  the  supreme 
Duplex  from  its  intellectual 
Throne.      It  occurred  in 
Washington,  D.  C. 

But  thou 
Snow,  lying  so  spotless 
On  the  frozen  earth,  as 
I  remarked  before,  thou 
Hast  indeed  a  soft, 
Soft  thing.      Thou  comest 
Down  like  the  silent 
Movements  of  a  specter, 
And  thy  fall  upon  the 
Earth  is  like  the  tread 
Of  those  who  walk  the 
Shores  of  immortality. 
You  lie  around  all 
Winter  drawing  your 
Annuities  till  spring, 
And  then  the  soft 
Breath  from  the  south  with 
Touch  seductive  bids  you 
Go,  and  you  light  out 
With  more  or  less  alacrity. 


l.^S  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

Then  rest,  O  snow, 
Where  thou  hast  settled 
Down,  secure  in  conscious 
Purity.      Avoid  so  far  as 
Possible  the  capital  of 
A  republic,  and  the 
Blessing  of  yours  truly 
Will  settle  down  upon 
You  like — like — a 
Hired  man. 

There  are,  no  doubt,  some  little  irregularities  about  this 
poem,  but  I  scratched  it  ofi£  one  night  in  camp  when  my 
chilblains  were  hurting  me  and  itching  so  that  I  had  to 
write  a  poem  or  swear  a  good  deal. 

We  have  not  seen  anything  as  yet  to  shoot  at. 

That  is,  of  course,  I  refer  to  what  we  came  here  for.  I 
shot  at  what  I  thought  to  be  Douglas  the  other  day,  but  it 
turned  out  to  be  an  old  Indian  who  was  out  skirmishing; 
around  after  cotton-tails  for  his  dinner.  I  snuffed  his  li^ht 
out,  however.  By  this  time  he  is  chasing  cotton-tails  in  a 
better,  brighter  sphere,  where  the  wicked  cease  from  troub- 
ling and  life  is  one  prolonged  Fourth  of  July.  Occasionally 
we  see  a  squaw  and  shoot  her  just  for  practice.  I  am  get- 
ting so  I'm  pretty  good  on  a  wheel  and  fire. 

Douglas  ought  to  be  easy  to  indentify,  however,  at  a  great 
distance,  for  his  features  are  peculiar.  He  has  a  large  nose. 
It  is  like  a  premium  summer  squash,  only  larger.  I  don't 
think  I  ever  saw  such  a  wealth  of  nose  as  his.  Napoleon 
used  to  say  that  a  large  nose  is  indicative  of  strong  charac- 
ter. According  to  this  rule,  Douglas  must  have  a  character 
stronger  than  an  eight-mule  team. 

We  start  out  early  to-morrow  and  hope  to  bag  something, 
but  cannot  tell  how  we  will  make  it.     I  will  report  as  soon 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  1 59 

as  I  get  to  where  there  is  a  telegraph.  I  do  not  allow  any 
reporters  along  with  me.  A  great  many  of  them  wanted 
to  go  along  with  me  for  the  excitement.  I  told  them,  how- 
ever, that  I  could  furnish  the  press  with  such  reports  as  I 
saw  fit  to  furnish,  and  I  did  not  want  to  take  a  young  man 
away  from  the  haunts  of  civilization  and  waltz  him  around 
among  the  hills  of  Colorado,  for  it  isn't  so  much  of  a  suc- 
cess as  an  editorial  picnic  after  all.  I  often  wish  that  I 
could  run  down  to  dinner  as  I  did  at  Washington  and  eat 
all  I  need.  I  also  yearn  for  the  hot  Scotch  and  the  spiced 
rum  of  the  pale-face,  and  the  Scotch  plaid  lemon  pie,  and 
the  indestructible  blanc-mange,  and  the  buckwheat  cakes 
like  door-mats  that  I  got  at  Washington. 

But  I  must  attend  to  the  business  of  the  Great  Father,  and 
prepare  the  remains  which  he  requires  for  his  grand  Indian 
funeral.     Till  then,  adieu.  Jack. 


UTE  ELOQUENCE. 

(SPEECH     OF   OLD   BON    COLOROVV    AT    AN    OLD    SETTLER'S    REUNION" 
IN    NORTH    PARK,    COLORADO.) 

The  following  short  oration,  delivered  bv  Colorow  in  the 
North  Park,  I  send  in  as  a  sort  of  companion-piece  to  the 
letter  written  by  Jack,  and  given  in  this  work.  Few  people 
actually  know  the  true  spirit  of  Greek  and  Roman  oratory 
that  still  lingers  about  the  remnants  of  this  people,  now 
nearly  driven  from  the  face  of  the  earth.  I  have  never  seen 
this  speech  in  print,  and  I  give  it  so  that  the  youth  of  the 
nineteenth  century  may  commit  it  to  memoryr  and  declaim 
it  on  the  regular  public  school  speech  day- 


l6o  SiLL    NYE    AND    feOOMERANQ. 

"  Mr.  Chairman,  Ladies  and  Gentlemen : — Warriors,  we 
are  but  a  little  band  of  American  citizens,  encircled  by  a 
horde  of  pale-faced  usurpers. 

"  Where  years  agone,  in  primeval  forests,  the  swift  foot  of 
the  young  Indian  followed  the  deer  through  shimmering 
light  beneath  the  broad  boughs  of  the  spreading  tree,  the 
white  man,  in  his  light  summer  suit,  with  his  pale-faced 
squaw,  is  playing  croquet;  and  we  stand  idly  by  and  allow  it. 

"  Where  erst  the  hum  of  the  arrow,  as  it  sped  to  its  mark, 
was  heard  upon  the  summer  air;  and  the  panting  hunter 
in  bosky  dell,  quenched  his  parched  lips  at  the  bubbling 
spring,  the  white  man  has  erected  a  huge  wigwam,  and 
enclosed  the  spring,  and  people  from  the  land  of  the  rising 
sun  come  to  gain  their  health,  and  the  vigor  of  their  youth. 
Men  come  to  this  place  and  limp  around  in  the  haunts  of  the 
red  man  with  crutches,  and  cork  legs,  and  liver  pads. 

"  Things  are  not  precisely  as  they  formerly  were.  They 
have  changed.  There  seems  to  be  a  new  administration. 
We  are  not  apparently  in  the  ascendancy  to  any  great 
extent. 

"  Above  the  hallowed  graves  of  our  ancestors  the  buck- 
wheater  hoes  the  cross-eyed  potato,  and  mashes  the  im- 
mortal soul  out  of  the  speckled  sqursh-bug.  The  sacred 
dust  of  our  forefathers  is  nourishing  the  roots  of  the  Siberian 
crab  apple  tree,  and  the  early  Scandinavian  turnip. 

"  Our  sun  is  set.  Our  race  is  run.  We  had  better  select 
a  small  hole  in  the  earth  into  which  we  may  crawl  and  then 
draw  it  in  after  us,  and  tuck  it  carefully  about  us. 

"  These  mountains  are  ours.  These  plains  are  ours.  Ours 
through  all  time  to  come.  We  need  them  in  our  business. 
The  wail  of  departed  spirits  is  on  the  winds  that  blow  over 
this  wide  free  land.     The  tears  of  departed  heroes  of  our 


bieL  Nye  And  Boomerang.  161 

people  fall  in  the  rain  drops,  for  their  land  is  given  away. 
To-day  I  look  upon  the  sad  wreck  of  a  great  people,  and  I 
ask  you  to  go  with  me,  and  with  our  united  hearts'  blood 
win  back  the  fair  domain.  Let  two  or  three  able-bodied 
warriors  follow  me  and  hold  my  coat  while  I  mash  the 
white-livered  snipe  off  the  lowlands  beyond  recognition. 

"  Let  us  steal  in  upon  the  frontier  while  the  regular-army 
has  gone  to  his  dinner  and  get  a  few  Caucasians  for  break- 
fast. 

M  Arise,  ye  Goths,  and  glut  your  ire."     [Applause.] 


THE    AGED    INDIAN'S    LAMENT. 

[copyrighted:  all  rights  reserved.] 

"  Warriors,  I  am  an  aged  hemlock. 

"  The  mountain-winds  sigh  among  my  withered  limbs. 
A  few  more  suns  and  I  shall  fall  amid  the  solemn  hush  of 
the  forest,  and  my  place  will  be  vacant.  I  shall  tread  the 
walks  of  the  happy  hunting  grounds,  and  sing  glad  hallelu- 
jahs where  the  worm  dieth  not  and  the  fire-water  is  not 
quenched. 

"  Once  I  was  the  pride  of  my  tribe  and  the  swift-foot  of 
the  prairie.  I  stood  with  my  brethren  like  the  towering 
oak,  and  my  prowess  was  known  throughout  my  nation. 
Now  I  bow  to  the  wintry  blast  and  hump  myself  with  a 
vigorous  and  unanimous  hump. 

My  eagle-eye  is  dimmed.  The  fleetness  of  my  limbs  is 
gone.  The  vigor  of  my  youth  is  past.  I  do  not  shout  now 
to  my  warriors,  for  the  cliffs  and  rocks  refuse  to  answer 
back  my  cry,  and  it  sinks  away  like  the  sad  moan  of  the 
low-grade  refractory  mule. 


162  BILL   NYE    AND   BOOMERANG. 

"  When  my  brethren  go  forth  to  shoot  the  swift-footed 
ranchman  as  he  gambols  on  the  hill-sides,  I  cower  above 
the  camp-fire  and  rub  mutton-tallow  on  my  favorite  chil- 
blain through  the  still  watches  of  the  night. 

"Warriors,  I  yearn  for  immortality.  The  White  Father 
has  said  that  over  yonder  the  life  is  one  of  uninterrupted 
editorial  excursions.  No  inflammatory  rheumatism  can  ever 
enter  there. 

"  I  want  to  be  a  copper-colored  angel  and  out-fly  the  boss 
angel  of  the  entire  outfit.  I  want  to  see  Pocahontas  and 
other  great  men  who  have  clomb  the  golden  stair.  I  want 
something  to  eat,  so  as  to  surprise  my  stomach.  I  want  a 
long  period  of  rest  and  soul-destroying  inactivity. 

"  Warriors,  my  sun  is  set.  I  have  lost  my  grip.  My 
features  are  sharpened  by  age,  and  one  by  one  my  white 
teeth  have  resigned  till  but  two  are  left,  and  they  do  not 
seem  to  mash  by  an  overwhelming  majority.  I  cannot 
masticate  buffalo  tripe  or  even  relish  my  tarantula  on  toast 
as  I  once  could. 

"  My  twilight  is  fading  into  evening,  and  the  day  is  gone. 
I  hear  the  crickets  chirp  in  the  dead  grass  and  I  know  that 
the  night  is  at  hand.  Far  away  upon  the  gentle  winds  I 
hear  the  soft  cooing  of  the  Colorado  tom-cat,  and  the  thump 
of  the  stove  lid  as  it  misses  the  cat  and  strikes  with  a  hollow, 
mournful  sound  against  the  corral.  A  few  more  moons  and 
you  will  meet,  but  you  will  miss  me.  There  will  be  one 
vacant  chair. 

"  The  veal-cutlet  and  the  watermelon  of  the  pale-face 
hold  out  no  inducements  to  me.  The  circus  and  the  ice- 
cream festival  will  miss  me,  for  I  shall  be  far  awav  in  the 
ether-blue,  where  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling  and  the 
weary  are  at  rest.  I  shall  be  revelling  in  more  eternal  rest 
than  I  know  what  to  do  with. 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  163 

"  Farewell,  my  warriors.  Make  my  humble  grave  low 
in  the  valley  where  the  wild  columbine  and  the  Rocky 
Mountain  flea  can  clamber  over  my  last  resting  place,  and 
carve  upon  the  slab  above  my  head  the  name  of  Minnecon- 
jo-presipitatenuxqonicatahskunkahcoquipahhahamazanpah- 
kahconkaska.  The-cross-eyed-caterpillar-who-walks-on-his- 
hind-legs-and-howls-like-the-pale-face-pappoose-who-adver- 
tises-to-hold-down-the-blonde-bumble-bee." 


HOW  A  MINING  STAMPEDE  BREAKS  OUT. 

Dear  reader,  shall  I  give  you  a  few  symptoms  of  the 
mining  epidemic  in  Mountain  towns?  All  right.  I  will 
anyhow ! 

Symptom  i. — A  long-haired  man  is  seen  pounding  up  a 
piece  of  quartz  about  the  size  of  a  man's  hand. 

Symptom  2. — Two  men  meander  up  to  him  and  ask  him 
where  he  got  it. 

Symptom  3. — The  long-haired  man  looks  down  into  the 
mortar,  and  lies  gently  to  the  inquiring  minds  who  linger 
near. 

Symptom  4. — More  men  come  around.  The  long-haired 
man  gets  a  gold-pan  and  doubles  himself  up  over  the  ditch 
and  begins  to  pan. 

Symptom  5. — Two  hundred  more  men  come  out  of 
saloons  and  other  mercantile  establishments  and  join  the 
throng. 

Symptom  6. — The  long-haired  man  gets  down  to  black 
sand,  and  shows  several  colors  about  the  size  of  a  blue-jay's 
ear. 


164  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

Symptom  7  times. — Several  solitary  horsemen  start  out, 
with  some  pack-mules,  and  blank  location  notices,  and  val- 
ley tan.  The  plot  deepens.  The  telegraph  gets  red-hot. 
Men  who  have  been  impecunious,  for  lo,  these  many  years, 
come  around  to  pay  some  old  bills.  Poor  men  buy  spotted 
dogs  and  gold-headed  canes.  Stingy  men  get  reckless,  and 
buy  the  first  box  of  strawberries  without  asking  the  price. 

I  have  caught  the  epidemic  myself. 

I  am  getting  reckless.  Instead  of  turning  my  last  sum- 
mer lavender  pants  hind  side  before,  and  removing  the 
ham  sandwich  lithograph  on  the  front  breadths,  I  have  pur- 
chased a  new  pair. 

I  never  experienced  such  a  wild,  glad  feeling  of  perfect 
abandon. 

I  go  to  church  and  chip  in  for  the  heathen,  perfectly 
regardless  of  expense.  If  Zion  languishes,  I  come  forward 
and  throw  in  the  small  currency  with  a  lavish  hand. 

Banks,  offices,  hotels,  saloons  and  private  residences  show 
specimens  of  quartz  carrying  free  gold  and  carbonates,  hard, 
soft,  and  medium  soft,  with  iron  protoxide  of  nitrogen, 
rhombohedral  glucose  indications  of  valedictory  and  free 
milling  oxide  of  anti-fat  in  abundance. 

Nellis,  who  lives  near  the  Mill  Creek  carbonate  claims, 
came  in  to  town  the  other  day  to  get  an  injunction  against 
the  miners,  so  that  he  could  injunct  them  from  prospecting 
in  his  cellar,  and  staking  his  pie-plant  bed. 

When  he  goes  out  after  dark  to  drive  the  cow  out  of  his 
turnip  patch,  he  falls  over  a  stake  every  little  while,  with  a 
notice  tacked  on  it,  which  sets  forth  that  the  undersigned, 
viz.,  Johnny  Comelately,  Joe  Newbegin,  Shoo  Fly  Smith, 
and  Union  Forever  Dandelion  claim  1,500  feet  in  length,  by 
600  feet  in  width  for  mineral  purposes  on  this  claim,  to  be 


BIO,    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  165 

known  as  "  The  Gal  with  the  skim-milk  Eye,"  together 
with  all  dips,  spurs,  angles  or  variations,  gold,  silver,  or 
other  precious  metals  therein  contained. 

Mr.  Nellis  says  he  is  glad  to  see  a  "  boom,"  and  at  first  he 
did  all  he  could  to  make  it  pleasant  for  prospectors;  but 
lately  he  thinks  that  their  sociability  has  become  too  earnest 
and  too  simultaneous. 

I  told  him  that  the  only  way  I  could  see  to  avoid  losing 
his  grip,  and  having  his  string-beans  dug  up  prematurely, 
was  to  stake  the  entire  ranche  as  a  placer  claim,  buy  him  a 
Gatling  gun  that  would  shoot  the  large  size  of  buckshot,  and 
then  trust  in  the  mysterious  movements  of  an  overruling 
Providence. 

I  do  not  know  whether  he  took  my  advice  or  not;  but  I 
am  looking  anxiously  along  the  Mill-Creek  road  every  day, 
for  a  six  mule  team  loaded  with  disorganized  remains,  and 
driven  by  a  man  who  looks  as  though  he  had  glutted  his 
vengeance,  and  had  two  or  three  gluts  left  over  on  his  hands. 


THE  GREAT  ROCKY  MOUNTAIN  REUNION  OF  YAL- 

LER  DOGS. 

Secretary  Spates,  the  silver-tongued  orator  and  gilt- 
edged  mouth  organ  of  Wyoming,  acting  general  superin- 
tendent and  governor  extraordinary  of  Wyoming,  expressed 
a  wish  the  other  day  for  a  dog.  He  had  a  light  yellow 
cane,  and  wanted  a  dog  to  match.  He  said  that  he  wanted 
something  to  love.  If  he  could  wake  up  in  the  stillness  of 
the  night  and  hear  his  faithful  dog  fighting  fleas,  and  licking 
his  chops,  and  coughing,  he  (the  secretary)  would  feel  as 
though  he  wa§  beloved,  at  least,  by   one.      Some   friends 


l66  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

thought  it  would  be  a  pleasant  thing  to  surprise  Mr.  Spates 
with  a  dog.  So  they  procured  a  duplicate  key  to  his  room 
and  organized  themselves  into  a  dog  vigilance  committee. 
There  were  several  yellow  dogs  around  Cheyenne  that  were 
not  in  use,  and  their  owners  consented  to  part  with  them 
and  try  to  control  their  grief  while  they  worried  along  from 
day  to  day  without  them.  These  dogs  were  collected  and 
placed  in  the  secretary's  room. 

Throwing  a  heterogeneous  mass  of  dogs  together  in  that 
way,  and  all  of  them  total  strangers  to  each  other,  in  the 
natural  course  of  things  creates  something  of  a  disturbance, 
and  that  was  the  result  in  this  case.  When  the  secretary 
arrived,  the  dogs  were  holding  a  session  with  closed  doors. 
The  presiding  officer  had  lost  control,  and  a  surging  crowd 
of  yellow  dogs  had  the  floor.  Only  one  dog  was  excepted. 
He  was  strusrsrlinsr  with  all  his  strength  against  the  most 
collossal  attack  of  colic  that  ever  convulsed  a  pale,  yellow 
dog.  Just  as  he  would  get  to  feeling  kind  of  comfortable,  a 
spasm  would  catch  him  on  the  starboard  quarter  and  his 
back  would  hump  itself  like  a  1,000-legged  worm,  and  with 
such  force  as  to  thump  the  floor  with  the  stumpy  tail  of  the 
demoralized  dog  and  jar  the  bric-a-brac  on  the  brackets  and 
what-nots  of  the  Secretary  of  Wyoming  Territory. 

Just  then  the  secretary  arrived.  He  was  whistling  a  trill 
dv  two  from  the  "  Turkish  Patrol,"  when  he  got  within  ear- 
shot of  the  convention.  Several  people  met  him  and  asked 
him  what  was  going  on  up  in  his  room.  The  secretary 
blushed  and  said  he  guessed  there  was  nothing  out  of 
character,  and  wondered  if  someone  was  putting  up  a  Conk- 
ling  story  on  him,  to  kill  a  Spates  boom. 

When  he  got  to  the  door  and  went  in,  thirty-seven  dogs 
ran  between  his  legs?  and  went  out  the  door  with  a  good 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  1 67 

deal  of  intensity.     More  of  them  would  have  run  between 
the  secretary's  legs,  but  they  couldn't  all  make  it. 

Mr.  Spates  was  mad.  He  felt  hurt  and  grieved.  The 
dogs  had  jumped  on  the  bed  and  torn  the  pillow  shams  into 
minute  bandages,  and  wiped  their  feet  on  the  coverlid. 
They  had  licked  the  blacking  off  his  boots,  and  eaten  his 
toilet  soap.  One  of  them  had  tried  on  the  secretary's  dress- 
ing gown ;  but  it  was  not  large  enough,  and  he  had  taken  it 
off  in  a  good  deal  of  a  hurry. 

Long  after  it  was  supposed  that  the  last  dog  had  gone  out, 
yellow  dogs,  of  different  degrees  of  yellowishness,  and  mov- 
ing in  irregular  orbits,  would  be  thrown  from  the  secretary's 
room  with  great  force.  Some  of  them  were  killed,  while 
others  were  painfully  injured.  It  is  said  that  there  are  fewer 
yellow  dogs  in  Cheyenne  now  than  there  used  to  be,  and 
those  that  are  there  are  more  subdued,  and  reserved,  and 
taciturn,  and  skinned  on  the  back,  than  they  used  to  be; 
while  the  secretary  has  a  far-away  look  in  his  eye,  like  a  man 
who  has  trusted  humanity  once  too  often,  and  been  everlast- 
ingly and  unanimously  left. 


WHAT  WOMAN'S  SUFFRAGE  HAS  DONE  FOR 
WYOMING. 

SOME   TESTIMONIALS,    AND   ONE   THING   AND    ANOTHER. 

The  managing  editor  of  a  Boston  paper,  is  getting 
material  together  relative  to  the  practical  workings  of 
Woman's  Suffrage,  and  as  Wyoming  is  at  present  working 
a  scheme  of  that  kind,  he  wants  an  answer  to  the  following 
questions ; 


rr*8 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 


I. — Has  it  been  of  real  benefit  to  the  Territory? 
2. — If  so,  what  has  it  accomplished? 
3. — How  does  it  affect  education,  morals,  courts,  &c? 
4. — What  proportion  of  the  women  vote? 

ANSWERS. 


SUFFERAGE, 


1. — Yes,  it  has  indeed  been  of  real  benefit  to  the  Territory 
in  many  ways.     Until  woman's  suffrage  came  among  us, 

life  was  a  drag — a  monoto- 
nous sameness,  and  sim- 
ultaneous continuousness. 
Now  it  is  not  that  way. 
Woman  comes  forward 
with  her  ballot,  and  puts 
new  life  into  the  flagging: 
energies  of  the  great  politi- 
cal circles.  She  purifies 
the  political  atmosphere, 
and  comes  to  the  polls  with 
her  suffrage  done  up  in  a  little  wad,  and  rammed  down  into 
her  glove,  and  redeems  the  country. 

2. — It  has  accomplished  more  than  the  great  outside  world 
wots  of.  Philosophers  and  statesmen  may  think  that  they 
wot;  but  they  don't.     Not  a  wot. 

To  others  outside  of  Wyoming,  woman's  suffrage  is  a  mel- 
low dream;  but  here  it  is  a  continuous,  mellow,  yielding 
reality.  We  know  what  we  are  talking  about.  We  are 
acquainted  with  a  lady  who  came  here  with  the  light  of 
immortality  shining  in  her  eye,  and  the  music  of  the  spheres 
was  singing  in  her  ears.  She  was  apparently  on  her  last 
limbs,  if  we  may  be  allowed  that  expression.  But  woman's 
suffrage  came  to  her  with  healing  on  its  wings,  and  the  rose 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  169 

of  health  again  bloomed  on  her  cheek,  and  her  appetite  came 
back  like  the  famine  in  Ireland.  Now  she  wrestles  with 
the  cast-iron  majolica  ware  of  the  kitchen  during  the  day, 
and  in  the  evening  works  a  cross-eyed  elephant  on  a  burlaps 
tidy,  and  talks  about  the  remonetization  of  the  currency. 

Without  attempting  to  answer  the  last  two  questions  in  a 
short  article  like  this,  we  will  simply  give  a  few  certificates 
and  testimonials  of  those  who  have  tried  it: 

Prairie-Dog  Ranche,  Jan.  3,  1880. 

"Dear  Sir:  I  take  great  pleasure  in  bearing  testimony  to 
the  efficacy  of  woman's  suffrage.  It  is  indeed  a  boon  to 
thousands.  I  was  troubled  in  the  east  beyond  measure  with 
an  in 2f rowing:  nail  on  the  most  extensive  toe.  It  caused  me 
great  pain  and  annoyance.  I  was  compelled  to  do  my  work 
wearing  an  old  gum  overshoe  of  my  husband's.  Since 
using  woman's  suffrage  only  a  few  months,  my  toe  is  en- 
tirely well,  and  I  now  wear  my  husband's  fine  boots  with 
perfect  ease.  As  a  remedy  for  ingrowing  nails  I  can  safely 
recommend  the  woman's  suffrage. 

Sassafras  Oleson." 


Miner's  Delight,  Jan  23,  1880. 
"  Deer  Sur :  Two  year  ago  mi  waife  fell  down  into  a  nold 
sellar  and  droav  her  varyloid  through  the  Sarah  bellum.  I 
thot  she  was  a  Gonner.  I  woz  then  livin'  in  the  sou  west 
potion  of  Injeanny.  I  moved  to  where  i  now  am  leaving 
sevral  onsettled  accounts  where  i  lived.  But  i  wood  do  al- 
most anything  to  recover  mi  waifs  helth.  She  tried 
Woman's  SufFrins  and  can  now  lick  me  with  1  hand  tied 
behind  hur.  i  o  everything  to  the  free  yuse  of  the  femail 
ballot.     So  good  bi.  at  Present 

Union  Forever  McGili^igin." 


t70  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

Rawhide,  Feb.  2,  1W0, 

"Dear  Sir :  I  came  to  Wyoming  one  year  ago  to-day.  A 1 
that  time  I  only  weighed  153  pounds  and  felt  all  the  time  as 
though  I  might  die.  I  was  a  walking  skeleton.  Coyotes 
followed  me  when  I  went  away  from  the  house. 

My  husband  told  me  to  try  Woman's  Suffrage.  I  did  so. 
I  have  now  run  up  to  my  old  weight  of  213  pounds,  and  I 
feel  that  with  the  proper  care  and  rest,  and  rich  wholesome 
diet,  I  mav  be  spared  to  my  husband  and  family  till  next 
spring. 

I  am  now  joyful  and  happy.  I  go  about  my  work  all 
day  singing  Old  Zip  Coon  and  other  plaintive  melodies. 
After  using  Woman's  Suffrage  two  days  I  sat  up  in  a  rock- 
ing chair  and  ate  one  and  three-fourths  mince  pies.  Then  I 
worried  down  a  sugar-cured  ham  and  have  been  gaining 
ever  since. 

Ah!  it  is  a  pleasant  thing  to  come  back  to  life  and  its  joys 
again.         Yours  truly,        Ethel  Lillian  Kersikes." 


PORTUGUESE  WITHOUT  A  MASTER. 

I  am  spending  my  leisure  moments  these  days  studying 
the  Portuguese  lanjjuaGre. 

It  is  not  very  generallv  used,  it  is  true,  but  I  might  meet 
a  Portuguese  some  day  who  wanted  to  hold  a  conversation 
with  me  very  much,  and  I  would  feel  more  at  ease  if  I  could 
speak  the  language  with  elegance  and  precision. 

I  am  working  at  the  task  silently  and  earnestly  without  a 
master,  and  I  am  sometimes  a  little  mystified  by  the  start- 
ling and   original   exhibitions  of  imported  syntax   and   ety 
inology  as  shown  in  the  English  translations  given  in  the 


BILL    WE    AN'D    BOOMERANG.  I  7  I 

book  which  I  am  studying.  It  is  a  kind  of  Portuguese 
primer,  designed  and  constructed  by  Jose  Dc  Fonseca  and 
Pedro  Carolino,  and  although  the  Portuguese  part  of  it 
seems  to  be  all  right,  I  am  at  times  a  little  annoyed  at  the 
novel  arrangement  of  the  English  translations. 

The  authors  in  their  preface  seem  to  convey  the  impres- 
sion that  other  compilers  and  writers  who  have  attempted 
this  thinsf  have  not  seemed  to  meet  the  demands  of  the 
times,  but  Messrs.  Fonseca  &  Carolino  intimate  that  they 
have  supplied  a  want  long  felt,  and  they  seem  tickled  almost 
to  death  over  the  fact  that  they  have  the  bulge  on  their  pre- 
decessors.    In  their  apparently  modest  way  they  say: 

"  The  works  which  we  are  conferring  for  this  labor  found 
use  us  for  nothing,  but  those  who  were  publishing  to  Portu- 
gal or  out,  they  were  most  all  composed  for  some  foreign 
or  some  national,  acquainted  in  the  spirit  of  both  languages. 
It  was  resulting  from  that  carelessness  to  rest  these  works 
fill  of  imperfections,  and  anomalies  of  style,  and  idiotisms, 
for  this  language  in  spite  of  the  infinite  typographical  faults 
which  sometimes  invert  the  sense  of  the  periods." 

Parties  who  have  become  cloyed  with  the  spicy  fragrance 
of  "  Fifteen  "  might  find  pleasing  diversion  in  the  foregoing 
sentence.  It  is  quaint  and  unique  in  its  style,  and  although 
I  consider  it  perfectly  original,  I  am  led  to  believe  that  there 
are  little  poetic  gems  from  Walt  Whitman  in  it. 
Further  on  the  authors  in  poetic  prose  say: 
"  We  expect  them,  who  the  little  book  (for  the  care  what 
we  wrote  him  and  for  her  typographical  perfection)  that 
may  be  worth  the  acceptation  of  the  studious  persons  and 
especially  of  the  youth  at  which  we  dedicate  him  particu- 
lar^." 

Ah,  how  well  those  dark-eyed  dwellers  in  perpetual  sum- 


If 2  BILL   NYfi   AND   BOOMERANG. 

mer  know  how  to  inspire  even  the  dull  and  commonplace 
sentences  of  a  preface  with  a  living,  breathing  soul!  How 
the  threadbare  language  of  apology  and  modest  braggadocio 
used  by  the  hesitating  but  puffed  up  author  ever  since  the 
first  work  published  by  Moses,  is  made  to  submit  to  the 
tropical  influence  of  sunny  Portugal,  and  comes  forth  breath- 
ing the  seductive  odors  of  that  glad  clime  where  the  poet's 
song  of  undying  love  to  the  dark-eyed  maid  is  ever  throb- 
bing in  passionate  pulsations  upon  the  perfumed  air. 

But  I  must  give  a  Portuguese  translation  rendered  back 
into  English,  of  the  well  known  anecdote  told  on  the  phy- 
sician who  didn't  take  his  own  medicine: 

"  A  physician  eighty  years  of  age,  had  enjoyed  of  a  health 
unalterable.  Their  friends  did  him  of  it  compliments  every 
days.  '  Mister  Doctor,'  they  said  to  him, '  you  are  admirable 
man.  What  you  make  then  for  to  bear  as  well  ? '  '  I  will 
tell  you  it,  gentlemen,'  he  was  answered  them, l  and  I  ex- 
hort you  in  same  time  at  to  follow  my  example.  I  live  of 
the  product  of  my  ordering  without  take  any  remedy  who 
I  command  to  my  sicks.' " 

One  fault  with  American  wit,  in  my  estimation,  is  its 
coarseness  and  lack  of  polish.  I  have  mentioned  it  a  great 
many  times  and  wept  over  it  in  extreme  sorrow.  Here, 
however,  we  have  it  down  fine.  The  Portuguese  joke  is  no 
doubt  the  most  mirth  provoking,  and  at  the  same  time  the 
most  refined  and  delicate  joke  now  made.  We  send  our 
manufactures  to  all  foreign  countries  to  successfully  compete 
with  theirs;  but  our  joke  can  never  hold  up  its  head  and  ask 
for  the  award  or  bronze  medal  where  these  Portuguese  rib- 
ticklers  and  button-hole  busters  and  suspender  wrenchers 
are  allowed  to  compete  for  the  free  for-all  prizes.  The 
Portuguese  joke  with  facings  of  same  held  in  place  witri 


BILL   NYE    AND   BOOMERANG.  1^/3 

bias  folds  of  something  else,  is  really  the  most  recherche 
joke  now  on  the  market.  Americans  may  for  years  to  come 
be  able  to  furnish  a  good,  fair,  stoga  joke  that  will  do  to 
stub  around  home  with,  but  they  cannot  design  a  joke  that 
will  do  to  dress  up  in  and  wear  on  great  occasions.  The 
low-neck,  Oxford-tie,  Portuguese  burst  of  humor,  hand- 
sewed,  with  sole  leather  counter  and  steel  shank,  and  with 
the  name  of  the  author  blown  in  the  bottle,  is  bound  to 
command  the  highest  market  price  for  a  century  or  more  to 
come. 

We  may  command  the  smoking  car  and  Congress  trade, 
but  Portugal  must  furnish  the  easy  riding,  gentle,  picnic  and 
croquet  joke.  It  may  be  also  fed  to  invalids  with  a  spoon. 
A  friend  of  mine  who  had  been  sick  for  nkie  years  took  a 
Portuguese  joke  that  I  gave  him  right  out  of  the  can  with- 
out diluting  it,  and  by  that  means  gradually  led  up  to  fricas- 
seed oat-meal  gruel  stuffed  with  sawdust  and  other  rich 
dishes.  It  saved  his  life,  but  his  intellect  is  impaired  so  that 
he  don't  know  a  calcium  light  from  the  splendor  of  the  New 
Jerusalem. 


THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAIN  HOG. 

In  speaking  of  the  domestic  and  useful  animals  of  Lara- 
mie, it  would  not  be  right  to  overlook  the  hog.  I  do  not 
allude  to  him  as  useful  at  all,  but  he  is  very  domestic.  He 
is  more  so  than  the  people  seem  to  demand.  I  never  saw 
hogs  with  such  a  strong  domestic  tendency  as  the  Lara- 
mie hogs  have.  They  have  a  deep  and  abiding  love  for 
home,  all  of  them,  and  they  don't  care  whose  home  it  is 
either. 


:74 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 


There  is  a  tremendous  pressure  of  hog  to  the  square  inch 
here.      The   town   is    filled    with   homeless,   unhappy    and 

starving;  h  o  sr  s. 
They  run  between 
your  legs  during 
the  day,  and  stand 
in  your  front  yard 
and  squeal  during 
the  night.  Most  of 
them  are  orphans. 
When  Thanksgiv- 
ing comes  it  will 
bring  no  joy  to 
them.  It  will  be 
the  rocky  mountain  hog.  like  any  other  day. 

About  all  t^e  fun  they  have  is  to  root  a  gate  off  the 
hinges,  and  then  run  off  with  a  table  cloth  in  their 
mouths.  We  should  not  be  too  severe,  however,  on  the 
hog.  What  means  has  he  of  knowing  that  there  is  a  city 
ordinance  against  his  running  about  town?  Kind  reader, 
do  you  think  the  innocent  little  hog  would  openly  violate 
a  law  of  the  land  if  he  knew  of  its  existence?  Certainly 
not.  It  is  pardonable  ignorance  on  the  part  of  the  hog,  the 
same  as  it  is  with  the  Indian,  which  causes  him  to  break 
over  the  statutes  and  ordinances  of  his  country. 

Our  plan,  therefore,  is  to  civilize  the  hog.  Build 
churches  and  school  houses  for  him.  Educate  him  and 
teach  him  the  ways  of  industry.  Put  a  spade  and  a  plow 
at  his  disposal,  and  teach  him  to  till  the  soil.  The  natural 
impulses  of  the  hog  are  good,  but  he  has  been  imposed  up- 
on by  dishonest  white  men. 

Long  before  man  came  with  his  modern  appliances,  the 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  175 

hos-  was  here.  He  owned  the  land  and  used  it  to  raise 
acorns  and  grub-worms  on.  But  the  white  man  has  entered 
on  the  fair  domain,  and,  regardless  of  his  solemn  treaties, 
has  taken  this  land  and  asks  that  the  hog,  the  original 
owner  of  the  soil,  shall  be  penned  up  in  a  little  reservation 
ten  feet  by  twelve,  made  of  cheap  pine  slabs. 

Every  principle  of  right,  and  justice,  and  equity,  and 
humanity  cries  out  against  this  tyrannical  action  on  the  part 
of  the  white  man.  Men  who  would  scorn  to  do  a  dishonor- 
able act,  ordinarily,  snatch  the  broad  lands  that  were  form- 
erly owned  by  the  hog,  away  from  him,  and  deliberately  go 
to  raising  wheat  on  them.  This  is  not  right.  We  should 
remember  that  the  hog  has  certain  rights  which  we  are 
bound  to  respect. 

Did  you  ever  stop  to  think,  dear  reader,  that  the  hog  of 
the  present  day  is  but  a  poor,  degraded  specimen  of  the  true 
aboriginal  hog,  before  civilization  had  encroached  upon  him? 
Then  do  not  join  the  popular  cry  against  him.  Once  he 
was  pure  as  the  beautiful  snow. 


THE  BUCKNESS  WHEREWITH  THE  BUCK  BEER 

BUCKETH. 

Buck  beer  is  demoralizing  in  its  tendency  when  it  moveth 
itself  aright.  It  layeth  hold  of  the  intellect  and  twisteth  it 
out  of  shape. 

My  son,  go  not  with  them  who  go  to  seek  buck  beer,  for 
at  the  last  it  stingeth  like  the  brocaded  hornet  with  the  red- 
hot  narrative,  and  kicketh  like  the  choleric  mule. 

Who  hath  woe?  Who  hath  babbling?  Who  hath  redness 
of  eyes?  He  that  goeth  to  seek  the  schooner  of  buck  beer. 


1^6  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

Who  hath  sorrow?  Who  striveth  when  the  middle  watch 
of  the  night  hath  come,  to  wind  up  the  clock  with  the  15 
puzzle. 

He  that  kicketh  against  the  buck  beer  and  getteth  left. 

Verily,  the  buckness  of  the  buck  beer  bucketh  with  a 
mighty  buck,  insomuch  that  the  buckee  riseth  at  the  noon 
hour  with  a  head  that  compasseth  the  town  round  about, 
and  the  swellness  thereof  waxeth  more  and  more,  even  from 
Dan  to  Beer— sheba.     (Current  joke  in  the  Holy  Land.) 

Who  clamoreth  with  a  loud  voice  and  saith,  verily,  am 
not  I  a  bad  man?  Who  is  he  that  walketh  unsteadily  and 
sino-cth  unto  himself,  "  The  bright  angels  are  waiting  for 
me?"  Who  wotteth  not  even  a  fractional  wot,  but  setteth 
his  chronometer  with  the  wooden  watch  of  the  watchmaker, 
and  by  means  of  a  tooth-brush? 

Go  to.  Is  it  not  he  who  bangeth  his  intellect  ferninst  the 
bock  beer,  even  unto  the  eleventh  hour? 


BILLIOTJS  NYE  AND  THE  AMATEUR  STAGE. 

A  great  portion  of  my  time  at  present  is  taken  up  in 
preparations  for  my  appearance  in  a  few  weeks  on  the 
amateur  stage. 

Excursion  trains  will  run  from  Denver  on  this  occasion, 
and  no  pains  will  be  spared  to  make  the  grand  spectacular 
hoodoo  one  long  to  be  remembered. 

Whenever  any  society  or  association  desires  to  make  a 
few  thousand  dollars  for  the  relief  of  knock-kneed  Piutes, 
or  to  purchase  liver-pads  for  impecunious  Senegambians,  it 
only  has  to  advertise  that  I  am  to  appear  on  the  amateur 
stage  in  a  heavy  part. 


BILL   NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  177 

I  am  not  a  brilliant  success  in  the  "  Say-wilt-be-mine  " 
part.  Just  as  I  get  the  heroine  up  close  to  me  near  the  foot- 
lights, and  begin  to  hug  her  a  little  as  I  would  at  home,  and 
I  temporarily  forget  that  a  thousand  eyes  are  upon  me,  it 
comes  over  me  that  my  wife  is  in  the  audience  and  does  not 
seem  to  enjoy  the  play.  This  throws  a  large  four-dollar 
gloom  over  the  entire  surroundings,  and  I  seem  to  lose  my 
grip,  so  to  speak. 

Many  years  ago  when  I  was  young  and,  as  one  might 
say,  in  the  hey-day  of  vigorous  manhood,  and  had  an  ap- 
petite like  a  P.  K.  Dederick  Perpetual  Hay  Press,  I  consent- 
ed to  take  a  leading  part,  and  although  I  could  generally 
worry  through  a  little  light  comedy,  I  had  not  then  learned 
how  rough  and  uncouth  I  appeared  as  the  heavy  lover.  I 
therefore  consented  to  hug  a  beautiful  young  thing  before 
five  hundred  people,  and  in  the  full  glare  of  the  footlights, 
whom  I  would  not  have  dared  to  wink  at  in  her  father's 
parlor  at  midnight,  with  the  lamp  turned  clear  down. 

I  have  an  easy,  gliding  stage  gait  that  is  something  be- 
tween a  "  pace  "  and  a  "  rack."  It  is  full  of  the  very  poetry 
of  motion. 

I  "  racked  "  up  to  the  heroine  at  the  proper  time  and  told 
her  how  I  loved  her  and  how  it  was  tearing  me  all  to  pieces, 
and  so  forth.  Just  as  I  was  coming  to  the  grand  flourish, 
however,  I  forgot  a  word,  and  while  I  was  thinking  that 
up,  the  remainder  of  the  speech  slowly  drifted  away  to 
where  I  couldn't  get  at  it. 

To  add  to  the  general  hilarity  of  the  occasion  the  stage 
manager,  who  was  furnishing  at  that  moment  some  pale 
blue  lightning  and  distant  thunder,  and  who  happened  to 
be  drunk,  threw  in  a  heavy  snow  storm  that  should  have 
gone  into  another  piece. 
*12 


178  BILL   NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

I  stooa  there  waiting  arid  trying  to  think  of  my  part 
*<bout  thirty  years,  I  should  think.  Any  way,  the  snow  got 
knee  deep  and  the  heroine  excused  herself  and  went  away 
to  warm  her  feet.  She  told  me  to  call  her  up  by  telephone 
when  I  could  think  of  my  piece. 

I  thought  the  audience  would  be  mad  and  mob  me,  but  it 
didn't.  There  seemed  to  be  general  good  feeling  and  har- 
mony all  the  way  through.  I  told  them  that  I  could  not 
call  to  mind  the  exact  words  of  my  part,  but  if  those  pres- 
ent would  like  to  hear  a  little  poem  that  had  gone  the 
rounds  of  the  press  a  good  deal  and  which  I  composed  my- 
self, entitled  "  The  Burial  of  Sir  John  Moore,"  I  would  ren- 
der it  in  my  own  choice  and  happy  style. 

It  is  not  a  humorous  poem,  but  the  audience  seemed  to 
think  it  was,  for  all  the  way  through  from  the  time  the  pro- 
cession started  out  with  Sir  John  till  he  was  planted,  every- 
body was  tickled  nearly  to  death. 

Now  I  do  not  take  the  part  of  the  leading  lover  any 
more.  The  awkward  young  man  who  carries  dead  bodies 
off  the  stage  is  good  enough  for  me. 


A   JOURNALISTIC    CORRECTION. 

OFFICE    OF    THE    MEEK-EYED    TARANTULA. 

We  have,  it  appears,  said  something,  casually,  in  our  kind- 
hearted  way,  that  the  sensitive  Slimtown  Harmonica  has 
taken  to  heart,  and  feels  badly  over,  so  we  will  try,  as  far  as 
possible,  to  place  ourself  in  a  correct  position.  We  spoke  of 
the  Harmo7iica  in  connection  with  another  subject  which  we 
took  the  liberty  to  write  upon,  and  did  so  simply  with  the 
idea  of  using  the  Harmonica  as  a  simile.     We  find,  how- 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  1 79 

ever,  that  we  were  wrong.  The  Harmonica  is  not  a  si?nile. 
On  the  contrary,  it  is  a  parabola.  It  is  a  base,  inferior  isos- 
celes, and  its  editor  is  nothing  but  a  cosmopolitan  hypothe- 
nuse;  and  if  he  wants  to  take  it  up,  we  may  be  found  at  our 
office  at  any  time  between  the  hours  of  a.  m.  and  p.  m. 
We  were  wrong  in  speaking  of  the  Harmonica  as  a  com- 
parison or  a  simile;  but  we  want  it  distinctly  understood 
that  we  know  what  the  Harmonica  and  its  editor  are,  and 
we  are  not  afraid  to  say  so,  either.  They  are  pre- Adamite, 
vicarious  isotherms,  and  we  think  that  it  is  time  the  people 
of  the  west  were  apprized  of  that  fact  too. 


BANKRUPT  SALE   OF   LITERARY  GEMS. 

OFFICE    OF    THE    MORMON    BvVZOO. 

Little  boys  who  are  required  by  their  teacher  to  write 
compositions  at  school  can  save  a  great  deal  of  unnecessary 
worry  and  anxiety  by  calling  on  the  editor  of  this  paper,  and 
glancing  over  the  holiday  stock  of  second-hand  poems  and 
essays.  Debating  clubs  and  juvenile  lyceums  supplied  at  a 
large  reduction.  The  following  are  a  few  selections,  with 
price : 

"  Old  Age,"  a  poem  written  in  red  ink,  price  ten  cents. 
"  The  Dog,"  blank  verse,  written  on  foolscap  with  a  hard 
pencil,  five  cents.  "Who  will  love  me  all  the  while?"  a 
tale,  price  three  cents  per  pound.  "  Hold  me  in  your  clean 
white  arms,"  song  and  dance,  by  the  author  of  "  Beautiful 
Snow,"  price  very  reasonable;  it  must  be  sold.  "She  ain't 
no  longer  mine,  nor  I  ain't  hern,"  or  the  sad  story  of  two 
sundered  hearts;  spruce  gum  and  licorice  taken  in  exchange 
for  this  piece*     "  God  \  his  attribute*  and  peculiarities,"  will 


i8o 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 


be  sold  at  a  cent  and  a  half  per  pound,  or  traded  for  a  tin 
dipper  for  the  office.  Give  us  a  call  before  purchasing  else- 
where. 

The  stock  on  hand  must  be  disposed  of,  in  order  to  give 
place  to  the  new  stock  of  odes  and  sonnets  on  Spring,  and 
contributions  on  "the  violet"  and  the  "  skipful  lamb." 


THOUGHTS    ON    MARRIAGE. 

Marriage  is,  to  a  man,  at  once  the  happiest  and  saddest 
event  of  his  life.  He  quits  all  the  companions  and  associa- 
tions of  his  youth,  and  becomes  the  chief  attraction  of  a  new 
home.  Every  former  tie  is  loosened,  the  spring  of  every 
hope  and  action  is  to  be  changed,  and  yet  he  flees  with  joy 
to  the    untrodden   paths   before  him.      Then   woe  to   the 

woman  who  can 
blight  such  joyful 
anticipations,  and 
wreck  the  bright 
hopes  of  the  trust- 
ing, faithful,  fra- 
grant, masculine 
blossom,  and  bang 
his  head  against  the 
sink,  and  throw  him 
under  the  cooking 
range,  and  kick  him 
into  a  three-cornered 
mass,  and  then  sit 
'h    ^f    y  down  on  him. 

marriage,  Little  do  women 

realize  that  all  a  man  needs  tmder  the  broad  cerulean  donte 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  l8l 

of  heaven  is  love — and  board  and  clothes.  Love  is  his  life. 
If  some  woman  or  other  don't  love  him,  and  love  him  like 
a  hired  man,  he  pines  away  and  eventually  climbs  the 
golden  stair.  Man  is  born  with  strong  yearnings  for  the 
unyearnable,  and  he  does  not  care  so  much  for  wealth  as  he 
does  for  some  one  who  will  love  him  under  all  circumstances 
and  in  all  conditions. 

If  women  would  spend  their  evenings  at  home  with  their 
husbands,  they  would  see  a  marked  change  in  the  bright- 
ness of  their  homes.  Too  many  sad-eyed  men  are  wearing 
away  their  lives  at  home  alone.  Would  that  I  had  a  pen  of 
fire  to  write  in  letters  of  living  light  the  ignominy  and  con- 
tumely and — some  more  things  like  that,  the  names  of 
which  have  escaped  my  memory — that  are  to-day  being  vis- 
ited upon  my  sex. 

Remember  that  your  husband  has  the  most  delicate  sensi- 
bilities, and  keenly  feels  your  coldness  and  neglect.  The 
former  may  be  remedied  by  toasting  the  feet  over  a  brisk 
fire  before  going  to  bed,  but  the  latter  can  only  be  remedied 
by  a  total  reform  on  your  part.  Think  what  you  promised 
his  parents  when  you  sued  for  his  hand.  Think  how  his 
friends,  and  several  girls  to  whom  he  had  at  different  times 
been  engaged,  came  to  you  with  tears  in  their  eyes  and  be- 
sought you  not  to  be  unkind  to  him.  Do  these  things  ever 
occur  to  you  as  you  throw  him  over  the  card  table  and  mop 
the  floor  with  his  remains?  Do  you  ever  feel  the  twinges 
of  remorse  after  you  have  put  an  octagonal  head  on  him  for 
not  wiping  the  dishes  drier?  Think  what  a  luxurious  home 
you  took  him  from,  and  how  his  mother  used  to  polish  his 
boots  and  take  care  of  him,  and  then  consider  what  drudgery 
you  subject  him  to  now.  Think  what  pain  it  must  cause 
him  when  you  growl  arid  swear  at  him*     Perhaps  when 


l82  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

you  went  away  to  your  work  you  did  not  leave  him  wood 
and  coal  and  water;  does  he  ever  murmur  or  repine  at  your 
neglect? 

Ah,  if  wives  knew  the  wealth  of  warm  and  true  affection 
locked  up  in  the  bosoms  of  their  husbands,  and  would  draw 
it  out,  instead  of  allowing  the  hired  girl  to  get  all  the  bene- 
fit, what  a  change  there  would  be  in  this  earth  of  ours.  But 
they  never  do  until  the  companion  of  their  joys  and  sorrows 
has  winged  his  way  to  the  ever-green  shore  and  takes 
charge  of  the  heavenly  orchestra,  and  then  for  about  two 
weeks  you  will  see  a  violently  red  proboscis  glimmering  and 
sparkling  under  a  costly  black  veil,  after  which  the  good 
qualities  of  the  deceased  will  be  preserved  in  alcohol,  to  be 
thrown  up  to  No.  2  in  the  bright  days  to  come. 

Then,  in  conclusion,  wives  in  Israel  and  other  railroad 
towns,  love  your  husbands  while  it  is  yet  day.  Give  him 
your  confidence.  If  your  active  corn  manifests  a  wish  to 
leave  the  reservation,  go  to  your  husband  with  it.  Lean  on 
him.  He  will  be  your  solid  muldoon.  He  will  get  an  old 
wood  rasp  and  make  that  corn  look  sick.  He  is  only  wait- 
ing for  your  confidence  and  your  trust.  Tell  him  your 
business  affairs  and  he  will  help  you  out.  He  will,  no  doubt, 
offer  to  go  without  help  in  the  house  in  order  to  economize, 
and  he  will  think  of  numberless  other  little  ways  to  save 
money.  Do  as  we  have  told  you  and  you  will  never  regret 
it.  Your  lives  will  then  be  one  great  combination  of  rare 
and  beautiful  dissolving  views.  You  will  journey  down  the 
pathway  of  your  earthly  existence  with  the  easy  poetical 
glide  of  the  fat  man  who  steps  on  the  treacherous  orange 
peel.  Your  last  days  will  be  surrounded  with  a  halo  of 
love,  and  as  your  eyes  get  dim  with   age   and   one  by  one 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  1S3 

your  teeth  drop  out,  you  can  say  with  pride  that  you  have 
never,  never  gone  back  on  your  solid  pard. 


A  UTE  PRESIDENTIAL  CONVENTION. 

The  presidential  conventions  of  last  summer,  and  their 
attendant  excitement,  personal  bitterness,  and  political  sharp- 
ness, have  called  to  my  mind  an  occurrence  in  the  history  of 
a  nation,  of  whose  politics  and  whose  statesmanship  the 
civilized  world  knows  but  little. 

Much  has  been  said  pro  and  con  relative  to  the  Indian 
character  in  general,  and  recently,  of  the  Ute  nation  in  par- 
ticular, but  those  who  knew  the  least  have  been  most  wil- 
ling to  shed  information  right  -and  left,  and  to  beam  down 
upon  the  great  reading  world  with  the  effulgence  of  the 
average  cultivated  lunatic. 

I  do  not  intend  at  this  time  to  enlarge  upon  the  question 
of  western  intolerance  and  eastern  hero  worship,  as  applied 
to  the  Indian  nation,  but  simply  to  remark  in  my  own 
gentle,  soothing  style,  that  those  who  know  the  Indian  best, 
have  the  least  respect  and  veneration  for  him. 

At  some  other  time  I  may  say  something  relative  to  the 
Indian's  home  life,  and  attempt  to  show  that  while  he 
appears  in  his  public  career  to  great  advantage,  both  as  a 
general  and  as  a  statesman,  he  is  prone,  like  other  great  men, 
to  little  domestic  irregularities.  At  this  time,  however,  I 
intend  simply  to  give  some  particulars  of  the  great  conven- 
tion of  1S75,  which  have  never  been  brought  to  the  eye  of 
the  reading  public. 

In  the  autumn  of  the  above  year  at  that  delightful  season 
when 


184  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

The  maple  turns  to  crimson, 
And  the  sassafras  to  gold. 

When  the  soft  and  mellow  light  of  the  declining  year  sheds 
a  subdued  splendor  of  misty,  dreamy  languor  over  the  snow- 
clad  mountains  and  wooded  canons  of  Colorado,  when  the 
deep  green  of  the  mountain  pine  is  darkly  outlined  against 
the  pale  gold  of  the  poplar,  and  the  cottonwood,  and  the 
willow,  the  chairman  of  the  Republican  central  committee 
of  the  Ute  nation,  issued  a  call  for  a  mammoth  convention, 
to  be  held  at  Hot  Sulphur  Springs,  for  the  purpose  of  nomi- 
nating a  candidate  for  head  chief,  to  succeed  Ula,  whose 
term  of  office  had  expired  by  reason  of  his  having  violated 
the  provisions  of  his  first  general  order,  in  which  he  had 
pronounced  himself  as  a  champion  of  civil  service  reform. 

The  day  for  the  grand  convention  had  arrived,  and  Hot 
Sulphur  Springs  had  become,  all  at  once,  a  lively,  bustling 
city.  From  every  point  of  the  compass  came  the  wild  shouts 
of  the  gathering  delegates,  with  their  credentials  in  one 
pocket,  and  their  patriotism  in  pint  bottles  in  the  other. 

The  convention  was  called  to  order,  and  effected  a  per- 
manent organization  by  electing  Shavano  as  permanent 
chairman. 

Shavano  rose  wit'h  stalely  gravity,  bowed  to  the  assembled 
convention,  and  walked  to  the  platform,  escorted  by  his 
trainer.  He  gracefully  removed  a  quid  of  partially  masti- 
cated government  plug  tobacco,  and  laying  it  carefully  on 
the  speaker's  desk,  said : 

"  Warriors  of  the  Ute  Nation,  and  Gentlemen  of  the  Con- 
vention: We  are  gathered  once  more  amid  the  solemn 
silence  of  the  mountains,  and  under  the  dying  leaves  of  the 
forest,  to  nominate  a  candidate  to  serve  as  executive  of  the1 
Ute  nation. 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  185 

"  Ula,  the  medicine  man  for  this  moon,  who  had  hoped  to 
be  here,  and  who  had  his  impromptu  speech  written  for  this 
occasion,  will  not  be  able  to  attend.  I  had  hoped  to  see  him 
here  that  he  might  act  as  secretary,  but  last  evening  he  was 
shot  by  request. 

"  It  seems  that  he  had  diagnosed  the  case  of  Prairie 
Dog,  the  son  of  Coyote,  and  had  pronounced  it  to  be  mem- 
branous croup;  but  the  coroner's  inquest  developed  the  fact 
that  Prairie  Dog  had  climbed  the  golden  stair,  the  victim  to 
a  can  of  concentrated  lye. 

"  A  mighty  nation,  whose  numbers  are  as  the  sands  of  the 
sea,  can  afford  to  let  its  medicine  men  fool  around  with  its 
people  and  experiment  with  them  till  they  meander  up  the 
flume,  but  the  Ute  nation  is  not  large.  It  is  a  mere  hand- 
ful. We  have  only  enough  for  a  quorum,  and  we  can  not 
use  any  of  them  for  scientific  experiments.  That  is  why  Ula 
is  on  the  evergreen  shore  instead  of  acting  as  our  secretary 
to-day.  At  the  request  of  the  sorrowing  friends  of  Prairie 
Dog,  the  medicine  man's  license  was  revoked,  and  Ula  was 
fixed  up  for  an  extempore  shot-pouch;  so  another  person 
will  have  to  act  as  your  secretary. 

"  Warriors,  I  do  not  wish  to  trespass  on  your  time.  You 
have  selected  me  as  your  chairman,  and  I  thank  you  for  the 
honor. 

"  We  are  now  a  small  and  powerless  nation.  Our  war- 
cry  is  answered  by  the  hilarious  laughter  of  our  foes.  Once 
we  were  great.  Our  hunting  grounds  were  without  limit 
and  our  villages  were  as  the  leaves  of  the  forest. 

"  To-day  the  white  man  plants  his  Swedish  turnips  above 
the  graves  of  our  ancestors.  We  are  the  orphan  children 
of  a  great  people  and  our  sun  is  set* 


lS6  BILL   NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

"  Once  we  were  wealthy  and  powerful.  Now  we  arv 
poor  and  weak,  and  our  wives  cannot  keep  a  hired  girl. 

"  Why  do  the  wails  of  our  people  echo  among  the  canons 
and  desolated  villages? 

"  Why  are  we  left  to  mourn  the  loss  of  our  wild  horses 
and  why  are  our  own  hillsides  dotted  with  the  locations  and 
prospect  holes  of  the  pale  face? 

"  Who  is  at  fault  that  the  graves  of  our  fathers  are  staked 
as  the  '  Gilt  Edge,'  or  the  '  Bullion  Lode,'  or  the  *  Luck} 
Sal,'  or  the  «  Calamity  Jane,'  or  the  '  Cross-Eyed  Hannah 
with  a  Cork  Limb?' 

"  I  charge  these  woes  of  our  people  upon  the  puerile 
policy  and  fire-water  reign  of  a  democratic  administration 
over  the  nation.     [Deafening  cheers.] 

"  Warriors  and  gentlemen  of  the  convention :  I  have 
only  one  more  word  to  say.  I  ask  that  the  rotten  fabric  of 
the  Ula,  Bourbon,  dyed-in-the-wool  administration  be  over- 
turned, that  peace  and  prosperity  may  once  more  smile  up- 
on us. 

"  In  conclusion  I  would  ask  the  further  pleasure  of  the 
convention."  [Uproarious  applause;  the  audience  joining 
in  "  Old  John  Brown  he  had  a  little  Injun."] 

A  committee  on  credentials  was  then  selected,  consisting 
of  five  members,  of  which  Buffalo  Tripe  was  chairman. 

An  adjournment  to  the  following  day  at  10  A.  m.  was 
next  taken  by  the  convention. 

The  delegates  were  formally  invited  by  the  proprietor  of 
the  Jack  Rabbit  house  to  attend  a  little  social  walk-around 
and  select  scalp-dance  on  the  following  evening. 

At  the  appointed  hour  the  convention  was  called  to  order 
by  the  chair,  and  a  report  from  the  committee  on  creden- 
tials was  called  fan 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  187 

Buffalo  Tripe,  on  behalf  of  the  committee,  submitted  the 
report  that  the  delegates  present  were  all  entitled  to  seats, 
except  that  Dead  Man's  canon  had  a  double  delegation. 

The  report  of  the  committee  on  credentials  was  accepted, 
and  the  committee  discharged.  The  chair  then  selected  a 
new  committee  to  examine  the  two  delegations  from  Dead 
Man's  canon,  and  instructed  it  to  report  adversely  on  the 
drunkest  one. 

This  was  regarded  as  a  victory  for  the  friends  of  Ouray, 
the  favorite  son  from  Stray  Horse  Gulch. 

Nominations  then  being  in  order,  the  Silver-Tongued 
Cactus  Plant  from  Middle  Park  arose  majestically  and  said: 

"  Mr.  Chairman  and  gentlemen  of  the  convention :  Our 
people  have  called  us  to  do  their  work  around  the  council 
lire  and  name  for  them  a  chief.  [Loud  cheers.]  They  look 
to  us  to-day  for  the  assurance  of  their  future  prosperity. 

"  We  stand  in  the  moccasins  of  mighty  men  to-day  with 
our  tribes.  Let  us  not  betray  their  confidence.  Let  us  be 
able  to  return  to  our  squaws  and  pappooses  with  the  smile 
of  the  Great  Father  upon  us.  [Applause.]  It  is  a  solemn 
moment  for  our  whole  nation,  and  the  silence  of  a  mighty 
forest  amid  the  gathering  storm  is  upon  us.  Mr.  Chair- 
man, I  have  the  pleasure  of  nominating  for  our  executive, 
Ouray,  the  man  who  never  told  a  lie."  [Thunders  of  ap- 
plause and  wild  demonstrations  throughout  the  entire  wig- 
wam.] 

After  the  excitement  had  died  away  Hohne-pah-Snocke- 
monthegob,  which  in  the  Ute  tongue  means  the  man-with- 
the-patent-liver-pad,  arose,  and,  laying  aside  a  chew  of 
tobacco  about  the  size  of  an  early  rose  potato,  said : 

"Mr.  Chairman  and  delegates  of  the  convention:  I 
wish  to  put  in  nomination  to-day  Douglas,  the  amusing  lit- 


iS.S  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

tie  cuss  from  Stinking  Water.     [Cheers.]     I  nominate  him 
because  he  is  a  dark  horse.     As  a  candidate  he  is  extremely 
brunette.     His  record  is  also  on  that  order.     I  think  he  will 
run,  as  I  may  say,  like  a  bay  steer  in  the  cucumber-patch. 
He  is  the  swift-foot  of  the  prairie,  and  the  Mountain  Zephyr 
cf  Cheyenne  can  not  overtake  him.     He  is  also  intellectual, 
and   has  written  several   little   gems  on  spring.     He  is  a 
philosopher,  a  scholar  and  a  judge  of  whisky.     He  will  har- 
monize the  disaffected  elements  of  our  tribe,  and  secure  the 
German  vote.     Douglas   has  a  staving  war  record,  and  is 
lazy   and    shiftless   enough    to    command    the   respect   and 
esteem  of  the  entire  nation.     The  crisis  seems  to  demand  a 
standard-bearer  who  will  meet  the  cunning  of  the  pale  face 
with  the  cunning  of  the  red  man,  and  I  therefore  make  this 
nomination  in  order  that  I  may  go  to  my  camp  in  the  Gun- 
nison country  feeling  that  I  have  done  my  duty  by  calling 
the  attention  of  my  people  to  a  man  who  is  well  calculated 
to  lead  us  to  success.     Douglas  has  filled  almost  every  posi- 
tion of  trust  or  profit  in  our  nation.     He  has  held  nearly 
every  office  within  the  gift  of  the  people  from  watermelon 
stealer  extraordinary  up  to  most  supreme  bar-tender  of  the 
nation,  and  he  has  never  betrayed  a  trust.     I  therefore  do 
myself  the  great  honor  to  place  his  name  in  nomination." 
TCheers  and  bass  drum  solo.] 

No  more  names  were  placed  in  nomination,  and  shortly 
afterward  the  convention  had  declared  its  preference  for 
Ouray  as  its  candidate. 

He  was  called  upon  at  his  room  by  a  committee  and  sere- 
naded at  the  Jack-Rabbit  House  by  a  large  band  with  torch- 
light procession. 

On  being  called  out,  Ouray  made  a  very  short  speech,  as 
follows : 


bill  nye  and  boomerang.  i&y 

"Warriors  and  Fellow-Citizens  of  Indian  De- 
scent :  I  thank  you  for  the  honor  you  have  conferred  upon 
me  to-day,  and  promise,  if  elected,  to  do  all  that  I  have 
agreed  to  do,  besides  what  I  may  hereafter  agree  to  do.  I 
hope  you  will  excuse  me  from  making  a  long  speech  as  I 
am  very  much  worn  out  with  my  labors  in  securing  this  un- 
expected nomination.  I  also  have  an  engagement  to  speak 
before  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association  to-morrow, 
and  also  to  address  the  Pocahontas  Lodge  of  Good  Temp- 
lars the  day  following. 

"  I  am  very  much  overcome  with  surprise,  this  nomination 
having  come  entirely  unsought,  and  compelled  thus  to  re- 
ceive a  nomination  forced  upon  me,  together  with  the  men- 
tal strain  and  constant  worry  necessary  on  my  part  to  bring 
about  this  gratifying  result,  you  will  not  be  surprised  that  I 
thus  abruptly  close  my  remarks  and  bid  you  good-night." 

This  speech  was  greeted  with  round  after  round  of  ap- 
plause, after  which  Douglas  was  called  for  by  his  friends. 
He  did  not  meet  with  any  great  degree  of  success,  for  when 
he  undertook  to  inhale  a  full  breath  and  start  his  speech  the 
friends  of  the  regular  nominee  would  present  him  with 
some  antique  eggs  of  the  vintage  of  '49,  and  Douglas  had 
to  adjourn  and  rinse  his  mouth  out  with  government  whis- 
key.    This  occasioned  delay  and  annoyance. 

The  delegates  tripped  the  light  fantastic  till  toward  morn- 
ing and  then  retired.  In  the  afternoon  they  all  arose  with 
a  light,  maroon  taste  in  their  mouths,  told  the  gentlemanly 
proprietor  of  the  Jack-Rabbit  House  to  charge  their  re- 
spective bills  to  the  government,  mounted  their  horses,  and 
the  most  harmonious  convention  known  to  the  world  had 
become  a  matter  of  history. 


I90  BILL   NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

THE  CLUB-FOOTED  LOVER  OF  PIUTE  PASS. 

A  TALE  OF  LOVE  AND  COLD  PI  ZEN. 

CHAPTER  THE  FIRST. 

Many  years  ago,  when  Wyoming  was  new  and  infested 
with  the  bear,  the  bunko-steerer,  the  buffalo  and  the  bold, 
bad  man,  a  little  circumstance  occurred  there  which  is 
worthy  of  notice;  and  as  it  has  never  appeared  in  the  news- 
papers, I  give  it  as  near  as  my  memory  will  serve  me  in  the 
narrative. 

When  Wyoming  was  a  wilderness,  and  before  the  civil- 
izing influence  of  the  legislature  and  Pattee's  lottery  had 
toned  down  the  rough  outlines  of  the  young  commonwealth, 
there  lived  over  on  Horse  Creek  a  ranchman  whom  we  will 
call  Henry  Ward  Beecher,  as  a  kind  of  nom  de  corral  as  it 
were. 

Henry  Ward  Beecher  was  a  bachelor,  and  lived  by  him- 
self. He  did  not  know  the  loving  influences  and  gentle 
yearnfulness  of  woman's  society.  His  life  was  a  howling 
wilderness,  a  wide  waste  of  loneliness  and  wretchedness, 
because  he  was  unmated. 

Henry  Ward  Beecher  did  not  know  the  pleasure  of  rising 
in  the  night  and  tangling  his  feet  up  in  a  corset  lying  on  the 
floor,  or  of  brushing  his  bald  head  in  the  morning  with  a 
hair  brush  so  full  of  long,  silky  hairs  that  they  would  wind 
around  his  nose  and  tickle  his  bald  head  till  he  would  wish 
he  was  dead.  He  was  alone  amid  the  solitude  of  the  moun- 
tains, with  no  companion  but  a  low  grade,  refractory  mule 
and  a  flea-bitten,  ecru-colored,  mongrel  dog,  with  one  eye 
knocked  out. 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  I9I 

Henry  thought,  as  year  succeeded  year,  that  he  would 
make  a  change,  and  throw  more  joy  into  his  humble  life  in 
some  way  or  another,  but  he  was  making  money,  and  kept 
busy  all  the  time,  so  that  he  neglected  it. 

Finally  one  day  in  spring  there  came  to  the  Ranche  de 
Henry  Ward  Beecher  a  man  from  Ohio,  named  Obejoyful 
Jenkins.  He  had  come  west  hoping  to  get  a  situation  as 
president  of  a  bank  on  the  strength  of  being  an  Ohio  man; 
but  most  all  the  banks  seemed  to  have  all  the  presidents 
they  needed,  so  that  Obejoyful  concluded  to  compromise  the 
matter,  and  herd  sheep  at  twrenty-five  dollars  per  month  and 
board.  He  struck  Henry  Ward  Beecher  and  made  a  trade 
with  him. 

CHAPTER  THE  TWICE. 

The  two  men  soon  became  quite 'friendly,  owing  to  their 
isolated  condition,  and  told  each  other  all  their  family  secrets. 
Henry  told  Obejoyful  how  his  grandfather  was  hung;  and 
Obejoyful  told  Henry  how  he  loved  a  girl  in  Ohio,  named 
Oleander  McTodd,  and  how  he  was  going  to  send  for  her, 
and  marry  her  as  soon  as  he  could  raise  the  scads  to  bring 
her  west. 

Time  flew  on,  and  at  last  Obejoyful  had  saved  up  the 
collateral  necessary  to  send  for  his  soul's  idol.  He  wrote  to 
her,  enclosing  a  post  office  money  order  for  the  amount 
necessary  to  pay  emigrant  fare  to  the  railroad  terminus,  and 
also  to  buy  lignum  vitce  cookies,  and  fire-proof  pie,  at  the 
lunch  counters  along:  the  road. 

About  the  day  on  which  Oleander  McTodd  wrould 
naturally  arrive  at  the  ranche,  Obejoyful  was  sent  up  on 
Stinking  Water  to  round  up  a  bunch  of  sheep  that  had 
escaped,  and  bring  them  back  to  the  fold. 


1^2  RILL    NYE    ANl)    BOOMERANG. 

Then  Henry  Ward  Beeeher  shaved  himself,  put  Warm 
tallow  on  his  boots,  swept  out  the  cabin  for  the  first  time  in 
nineteen  years,  and  waited  for  events  to  shape  themselves. 


CHAPTER  THREE  TIMES, 

The  orb  of  day  rode  slowly  ad  own  the  crimson  west. 
The  snow-ciad  mountains  stood  leaning  against  the  purple 
sky.  They  had  done  so  on  several  occasions  before.  A 
woman,  on  an  ambling  palfrey  Of  the  cayuse  denomination, 
rode  down  the  mountain  path  to  the  cabin,  and  alighted. 
Henry  Ward  Beeeher  came  to  the  door  with  some  hesitation 
and  no  suspenders. 

"  Is't  Obejoyful,  me  truant  love,  an  inmate  of  this  rural 
retreat,  said  a  young,  sweet  voice,  that  sounded  like  the 
melody  of  a  shingle  mill. 

"  Nay,  by  my  halidome  he  is't  not.  Gentle  lady,  on 
yester  morn  I  did  give  him  the  grand  bounce,  and  now  he 
hath  joined  a  hold-up  outfit  on  the  overland  stage  route.  It 
pains  me  to  tell  to  you  this  sad,  sad  news,  for  I  wot  ye  art 
the  damsel  who  erst  was  mashed  on  Obejoyful;  but  I  can- 
not tell  a  lie;  he  is  unworthy  of  you,  and  a  cross-eyed, 
spavined  snipe  of  the  desert,  and  don't  you  forget  it." 

Then  Oleander  lifted  up  her  voice  to  an  elevation  of  about 
14,000  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea,  and  she  wape  with  an 
exceeding  great  weep. 

CHAPTER  FOUR  TIMES. 

Henry  Ward  Beeeher  let  her  weep  till  her  surcharged 
orbs  had  ceased  to  give  down,  and  then  he  brought  out  some 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  I93 

valley  tan  that  he  had  in  the  house  for  medicinal  purposes 
and  comforted  her. 

Then  they  got  acquainted. 

They  sat  in  the  gloaming,  and  Henry  Ward  Beecher 
turned  the  gas  partly  off,  and  held  the  hand  of  Oleander,  and 
told  her  that  Obejoyful  had  been  a  humorist  on  an  Ohio 
paper,  and  otherwise  destroyed  the  prospects  of  the  absent 
lover  in  the  eyes  of  Miss  McTodd. 

They  looked  into  each  other's  eyes  and  knew  that  they 
were  solid  pards  from  that  moment.  Shortly  afterward 
they  rode  away  to  the  nearest  justice  of  the  peace,  about 
223  miles  off,  and  were  married. 

Then  they  went  home. 

Obejoyful  was  there.  He  was  also  heeled ;  but  H.  W.  B. 
got  the  drop  on  him.  Then  Obejoyful  seemed  filled  with 
disgust,  and  he  seemed  oppressed  and  filled  with  nameless 
forebodings.  He  seemed  to  lose  faith  in  mankind,  also  to 
some  extent  in  womankind.  He  seemed  to  think  that  love 
wasn't  exactly  what  it  was  represented  to  him  by  the  agent. 
It  didn't  seem  to  be  full  weight,  and  there  wasn't  a  prize  in 
each  and  every  package,  as  he  had  been  led  to  suppose. 

He  then  presented  a  bill  to  Henry  Ward  Beecher  for 
$-19-53,  freight  charges  on  Oleander  McTodd;  but  H.  W. 
B.  swore  with  a  great,  blood-curdling,  three-cornered  oath 
that  he  would  not  pay  it. 

That  night  Obejoyful  Jenkins  procured  some  poison,  and 
stole  away  to  a  quiet  place,  and  wrote  a  note  to  tell  his 
friends,  when  they  found  his  body,  why  he  had  taken  his 
own  life.  Then  he  commended  his  soul  to  Providence, 
poured  out  a  glass  of  whisky,  thought  he  would  try  it  with- 
out the  poison  first.  The  draught  revived  him.  He  changed 
his  mind  and  put  the  poison  in  Henry  Ward  Beecher's 
*13 


194  BILL   NYE   AND   BOOMERANG. 

whisky,  stole  H.  W.  B.'s  narrow-gauge  mule  Boomerang, 
and  lit  out  for  the  North  Park. 

This  is  a  true  story.  If  the  gentle  reader  has  doubts 
about  it  I  will  produce  the  mule  Boomerang,  which  is  now 
in  my  possession  and  in  a  good  state  of  preservation. 

Hereafter,  in  order  to  save  time  and  annoyance  to  my 
readers,  true  stories  over  my  signature  will  be  marked  with 
a  star,  thus,  *. 


THE   AUTOMATIC  LIAR 

Laramie  City,  August  23. — He  came  in  gently  but 
firmly,  and  felt  in  his  pocket  for  something. 

Finally  he  found  what  looked  a  little  like  an  egg-beater 
and  some  like  a  new  kind  of  speed  indicator. 

"  I  want  to  show  you,"  he  said  kindly,  "  an  office-dial  to 
hang  on  your  door,  so  that  when  you  are  away  your  clients 
will  know  where  you  are,  and  when  you  will  return.  For 
instance,  by  turning  the  thumb-screw,  the  dial  will  show : 

"  At  court, 

"  At  dinner, 

"  At  supper,    . 

"At  bank, 

"  At  post-office, 
etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  with  the  time  you  will  return.     There  are 
sixty-four  combinations  which  cover  all  cases  of  this  kind 
necessary  for  the  man  of  business,  and  it  is  no  doubt  the 
greatest  achievement  of  mechanical  ingenuity.    Price,  $  1 .50." 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Biteoffmorethanhecouldchaw,  "  there  are 
twenty -seven  reasons  why  it  would  not  be  advisable  for  me 
to  purchase  your  automatic  bulletin.     Firstly,  I   have  but 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  1 95 

one  client,  and  he  can  not  read.  He  would  only  come  and 
look  at  the  indicator  and  kick  it  all  to  pieces  and  swear  and 
go  away.  Secondly,  your  machine  is  incomplete,  anyway. 
The  inventor  has  signally  failed  to  meet  the  popular  want. 
It  would  only  be  an  aggravation  to  the  average  attorney. 

"  I  can  think  of  a  hundred  things  that  ought  to  be  added 
to  a  truthful  indicator.  Supposing  that  I  have  gone  to  the 
circus,  or  to  a  meeting  of  the  vestry,  or  suppose  I  am  drunk, 
or  at  a  reunion  of  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.,  or  out  to  eat  a  clove 
with  a  member  of  the  bar,  or  at  a  camp  meeting,  or  putting 
up  the  clothes-line  at  home?  Or,  going  still  further,  sup- 
pose I  am  wringing  out  the  clothes,  or  setting  bread,  or 
taking  a  bath,  or  wrestling  with  the  delirium  tremens,  or 
toning  down  a  rebellious  corn,  or  putting  Paris  green  on  my 
squash  bugs,  or  inspecting  microscopically  the  homoeopathic 
fragment  of  ice  that  the  kind-hearted  ice  man  has  prescribed 
for  me? 

"  Or,  going  still  further  into  detail,  supposing  that  I  am 
dead  and  cannot  state  with  any  degree  of  accuracy  where 
I  am  or  when  I  shall  return,  do  you  suppose  that  I  would 
herald  a  glittering  $1.50  lie  to  the  world  by  saying  that  I 
was  at  the  barber  shop  and  would  be  back  at  10:30? 

"Do  you  think  I  would  pay  $1.50  for  a  machine  to 
vicariously  proclaim  to  the  broad  universe  that  I  was  at  the 
bank,  when  I  have  no  business  with  the  bank? 

"  Do  you  suppose  that  I  would  advertise  that  I  was  at  the 
post  office  when  I  was  at  the  beer  garden,  or  assert  that  I 
was  at  the  court  house,  when,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  I  was  at 
that  moment  having  a  preparation  of  lemon-peel  and  other 
chemicals  arranged  for  myself  and  another  invalid  in  a  cool 
retreat  down  town? 

"No,  sir!  1  spurn  you  and  your  cast-iron  prevaricator,     I 


Iq6  BILL   NYE    AND    BOOMERANG- 

promised  my  dying  mother,  who  afterwards  recovered,  that 
I  would  never  lie  by  machinery. 

"  If  I  cannot  lie  enough  to  keep  up  with  the  growing 
demand,  I  will  resign  like  a  man,  and  not  call  to  my  aid  a 
cheap  Jim  Crow,  hand-me-down-liar,  costing  $1.50  only. 

"Always  do  right,  and  then  you  will  never  be  put  to 
shame. 

"  If  you  wish,  you  can  leave  the  hall  door  ajar  as  you  go 
out  the  main  entrance." 

Exeunt  advance  agent  at  upper  left  hand  entrance, 
orchestra  playing  something  soft  and  yielding. 


SOME  POSTOFFICE  FIENDS. 

The  official  count  shows  that  only  two  and  one -half  per 
cent,  of  those  who  go  to  the  postoffice  transact  their  busi- 
ness and  then  go  away.  The  other  ninety-seven  and  one- 
half  per  cent,  do  various  things  to  cheer  up  the  postmaster 
and  make  him  earn  his  money  and  wrish  that  he  had  died 
when  he  was  teething.  They  also  make  it  exceedingly  in- 
teresting for  the  other  two  and  one- half  per  cent.  When  I 
go  to  the  postoffice  there  is  always  one  man  who  meets  me 
at  the  door  and  pours  out  a  large  rippling  laugh  into  my 
face,  flavored  with  old  beer  and  the  fragrances  of  a  royal 
Havana  cabbage-leaf  cigar  that  he  is  sucking.  If  he  can- 
not be  present  himself  he  is  vicariously  on  deck. 

He  asks  me  if  my  circus  was  a  financial  success,  and  how 
my  custard  pie  plants  are  doing,  and  then  fills  the  suUry  air 
with  another  gurgling  laugh  preserved  in  alcohol. 

I  like  to  smell  a  hearty  laugh  laden  with  second-hand 
whisky.     It  revives  me  and  intoxicates  me.    Still  I  am  try- 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  1 9,7 

ing  not  to  become  a  helpless  slave  to  the  appetite  for  strong 
drink  in  this  form.  There  are  other  forms  of  intemperance 
that  are  more  seductive  than  this  one. 

There  is  also  a  boy  who  never  had  any  mail,  and  whose 
relatives  never  had  any  mail,  and  they  couldn't  read  it  if 
they  did,  and  if  some  one  read  it  to  them  they  couldn't 
answer  it.     He  is  always  there,  too. 

When  he  sees  me  he  hails  me  with  a  glad  smile  of  recog- 
nition, and  comes  up  to  me  and  stands  on  my  toes  and  is 
just  as  sociable  and  artless  and  trusting  and  alive  with  child- 
ish glee  and  incurable  cussedness  as  he  can  be.  He  stirs 
me  up  with  his  elbows,  and  crawls  through  between  my 
legs  until  the  mail  is  open,  and  then  he  wedges  himself  in 
front  of  my  box  so  that  I  can't  get  the  key  into  it. 

Some  day  when  the  janitor  sweeps  out  the  postoffice  he 
will  find  a  short  suspender  and  a  lock  of  brindle  hair  and  a 
handful  of  large  freckles,  and  he  will  wonder  what  it  means. 

It  will  be  what  I  am  going  to  leave  of  that  boy  for  the 
coroner  to  operate  on. 

Then  there  are  two  boys  who  come  to  the  box  delivery 
to  settle  the  difficulties  that  arise  during  the  day.  They 
fight  long  and  hard,  but  a  permanent  peace  is  never  de- 
clared. It  is  only  temporary,  and  the  next  day  the  old  feud 
is  ripe  again,  and  they  fight  it  all  over  once  more. 

There  is  also  an  amusing  party  who  cheerfully  stands  up 
against  the  boxes  and  reads  his  letters,  and  laughs  when  he 
finds  something  facetious,  or  swears  when  the  letter  don't 
suit  him.  He  also  announces  to  the  bystanders  who  each 
letter  is  from,  and  seems  to  think  the  great  throbbing  world 
is  standing  with  bated  breath  quivering  with  anxiety  to 
know  whether  his  sister  in  Arkansas  has  successfully  ac- 
quired triplets  this  year  or  only  twins. 


I98  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

This,  however,  is  an  error,  for  the  great,  throbbing  world, 
wuh  characteristic  selfishness,  don't  care  a  brass-mounted 
continental  one  way  or  the  other.  One  day  this  man  got  a 
letter  with  a  mourning  envelope,  and  I  heaved  a  sigh  of 
relief,  for,  thought  I,  he  will  now  go  away  and  be  alone 
with  his  great  grief.  But  he  did  not.  He  stood  up  man- 
fully and  controlled  his  emotions  through  it  all;  and  when 
he  got  through  he  broke  into  the  old  silvery  laugh. 

It  seems  that  his  brother  in  Oregon  had  run  out  of  yellow 
envelopes,  and  had  filled  the  one  with  the  black  border 
unusually  full  of  convulsive  mirth. 

What  a  world  of  bitter  disappointment  this  is  anyhow ! 

Then  there  is  the  woman  who  playfully  stands  at  the 
general  delivery  window,  and  gleefully  sticks  her  fangs  out 
into  the  subsequent  week,  and  skittishly  chides  the  clerk 
because  he  doesn't  get  her  a  letter,  and  he  good  naturedly 
tells  her  as  he  has  done  daily  for  seven  years,  that  he  will 
write  her  one  to-morrow. 

Then  she  reluctantly  goes  home  to  get  rested  so  that  she 
can  come  again  and  stand  there  the  next  day. 

Then  comes  the  literary  cuss,  who  takes  a  W"  ^kly  paper 
from  Vermont  with  a  patent  inside  to  it.  He  reads  it  with 
the  purest  unselfishness  to  me,  and  points  out  the  fresh,  new- 
laid  jokes  that  one  always  finds  in  the  enterprising  paper 
with  the  patent  digestion. 

He  also  explains  the  jokes  to  me,  so  that  I  need  not  grope 
along  through  life  in  hopeless  ignorance  of  what  is  going  on 
all  about  me. 

There  is  a  woman,  too,  who  comes  to  the  window  and 
lavishly  buys  a  three-cent  stamp,  and  runs  out  her  tongue, 
and  hangs  it  over  the  stamp  clerk's  shoulder,  and  lays  the 
stamp  back  against  the  glottis  and  moistens  it,  and  has  to 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  I99 

run  her  skinny  finger  down  her  turkey  gobbler  neck  to  res- 
cue it,  and  then  she  pastes  it  on  the  upper  left-hand  corner 
of  the  envelope,  and  asks  the  clerk  to  be  sure  and  see  that 
it  goes.  She  then  thoughtfully  tells  him  who  it  is  to  go  to, 
and  gives  a  short  biography  of  the  sendee. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  some  women  are  more  cap- 
able of  doing  certain  kinds  of  business  than  men  are.  All 
classes  of  business  requiring  careful  and  minute  explanations 
and  concise  and  exhaustive  directions  can  be  better  attended 
to  by  this  class  of  women. 

They  enter  joyfully  upon  the  task  of  shedding  collateral 
information  in  a  way  that  would  appall  a  man,  and  when 
they  confide  in  you,  you  know  that  they  are  not  keeping 
anything  back.  You  almost  wish  sometimes  that  they 
would  keep  back  a  little  of  it  and  not  rob  themselvss. 

Still,  perhaps  it  is  better  that  this  class  of  women  is  not 
trusted  with  any  great  amount  of  business,  for  life  is  so 
brief,  so  evanescent,  and  so  transitory. 

It  is  but  a  step  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave  anyway,  and 
if  a  man  stands  on  one  leg  an  honr,  and  then  on  the  other 
an  hour,  listening  to  extensive  information  every  time  he 
sells  a  stamp,  he  will  die  with  his  ambitions  unfruitioned. 


AGRICULTURE    AT    AN    ALTITUDE    OF    7500    FEET. 

I  herewith  acknowledge  the  receipt  of  two  bags  of 
cane-seed  from  the  Agricultural  Department. 

Mr.  Le  Due  is  always  thinking  of  me  and  evidently  knew 
that  I  was  yearning  for  some  cane-seed.  It  will  grow  lux- 
uriantly here  on  the  spinal  column  of  the  American  con- 


I 
200  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

tinent  where  winter  lingers  in  the  lap  of  spring  till  after  the 
Fourth  of  July. 

William  says  that  this  breed  of  sugar-cane  "  originated  in 
Minnesota,  and  is  claimed  to  have  been  the  result  of  acci- 
dental hybridization." 

I  shall  not  allow  anything  of  this  kind  myself  if  I  can  by 
the  most  tireless  watchfulness  avoid  it.  Accidental  hybridi- 
zation is  what  is  demoralizing  the  sugar-cane  of  the  whole 
country. 

I  shall  plant  this  seed  in  drills  two  feet  apart,  mulching 
with  rich  top-dressing  of  retired  gum  boots  and  dead  cats. 
I  will  then  wait  till  the  plant  has  germinated  and  appears 
above  the  surface,  when  I  shall  remove  the  boots  and  dead 
cats  and  rub  the  plants  with  a  Turkish  towel  to  promote  a 
healthy  circulation. 

Then  next  fall  while  others  who  have  sneered  at  me  and 
called  me  a  horny-handed  buckwheater  from  the  rural  dis- 
tricts, are  running  up  heavy  bills  for  groceries,  I  will  go 
out  into  my  molasses  orchard  and  pick  a  milk  pan  full  of 
granulated  sugar  from  my  trees,  or  shell  out  enough  maple 
su^ar  for  breakfast  at  a  slieht  cost  and  with  the  blessed  con- 
sciousness  that  I  did  it  all  myself. 

William  is  going  to  send  me  some  more  seeds  that  he 
thinks  will  do  well  in  this  tropical  climate.  If  he  could  send 
me  something  that  would  be  more  hardy,  like  the  early 
Swedish  lemon-squeezer,  or  the  mammoth  custard-pie 
plant,  or  the  Northern  Spy  cucumber  tree,  my  reports  to  the 
department  would  be  more  cheerful  than  they  are,  but  where 
plants  have  to  wear  their  heavy  California  underclothes  all 
through  August  they  get  discouraged  and  prefer  to  bloom 
in  the  sweet  fields  of  Eden, 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  201 

Last  year  I  tried  the  hot-bed  process,  but  it  was  not  a  sig- 
nal success.  This  summer  I  shall  use  the  hot-bed  as  an  ice 
cream  freezer.  It  wanted  to  act  in  that  capacity  last  sum- 
mer, but  I  had  a  freezer  that  did  very  well,  so  I  foolishly 
used  the  hot-bed  to  assist  the  plants,  although  I  know  of 
several  days  in  midsummer  when  my  cabbage-plants  had  to 
get  out  of  that  hot-bed  and  run  up  and  down  the  garden 
walk  to  keep  their  feet  from  freezing. 


THE  GENTLE  YOUTH  FROM  LEADVILLE. 

In  addition  to  the  other  attractions  about  the  depot,  the 
old  museum  of  curiosities  from  the  Rocky  Mountains  has 
been  re-opened.  I  like  to  go  down  and  listen  to  the  re- 
marks of  the  overland  passenger  relative  to  these  articles. 
There  are  two  stuffed  coyotes  chained  to  the  door,  one  on 
each  side,  and  it  amuses  me  to  see  a  solicitous  parent  nearly 
yank  his  little  son  to  pieces  for  going  so  near  these  fero- 
cious animals.  The  coyotes  look  very  life-like,  and  show 
their  teeth  a  good  deal,  but  it  breaks  a  man  all  up  when  he 
finds  that  their  digestive  apparatus  has  been  replaced  with 
sawdust  and  plaster  of  Paris. 

After  a  coyote  gets  to  padding  himself  out  with  baled  hay 
and  cotton  so  as  to  look  plump,  he  loses  his  elasticity  of 
spirits,  and  we  cease  to  respect  him.  Sometimes  a  tourist 
asks  if  these  coyotes  are  prairie  dogs. 

A  few  days  ago  a  man  from  Michigan,  who  has  been 
here  two  weeks  and  wears  a  large  buckskin  patch  where  it 
will  do  the  most  good,  and  who  is  very  bitter  in  his  remarks 
about  "  tenderfeet,"  was  standing  at  the  depot,  when  a  young 


202 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 


man,  evidently  from  a  theological  seminary,  came  along 
from  the  train  whistling,  "  What  a  friend  we  have  in  Jesus." 
He  walked  up  to  the  Michigan  man,  who  began  to  look 
fierce,  and  timidly  asked  if  he  would  tell  him 
all  about  the  coyote.  The  Michigan  man, 
who  never  had  seen  a  live  coyote  in  his  life, 
volunteered  to  tell  him  some  of  the  finest 
decorated  lies,  with  Venetian  blinds  and  other 
trimmings  to  them,  while  the  young  man  stood 
there  in  open-mouthed  wonder,  with  daylight 
visible  between  his  legs  as  high  as  the  fifth 
rib.  I  never  saw  such  a  picture  of  rapt  atten- 
tion in  my  life.  As  he  became  more  interested, 
the  Michigan  man  warmed  up  to  his  work  and 
lied  to  this  guileless  youth  till  the  perspiration 

GENTLE  YOUTH 

from  lead ville.  rolled  down  his  face.  As  the  train  started  out, 
the  delegate  to  the  Young:  Men's  Christian  Association 
asked  the  Michigan  man  for  his  address.  "  I  want  the  ad- 
dress of  some  good  earnest  liar,"  he  said,  "  one  who  can  lie 
by  the  day,  or  by  the  job,  and  endure  the  strain.  I  want  a 
man  to  enter  the  field  for  the  championship  of  America. 
Any  communication  you  may  wish  to  make  will  reach  me 
at  Leadville,  Colorado.  I  have  been  in  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains ever  since  I  was  three  years  old,  and  have  lived  for 
weeks  with  no  other  diet  but  coyote  on  toast  and  raw 
Michigan  man."  He  waved  his  hand  at  the  M.  man,  and 
said  :  "  If  I  don't  see  you  again,  hello !  "  and  he  was  gone. 
How  many  such  little  episodes  we  experience  on  om 
journey  to  the  tomb! 


BILE    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  203 

A    SNIDE    JOUPvN  1LIST. 

Recent  occurrences  here  have  seemed  to  absolutely  de- 
n  and  that  something  be  said  relative  to  newspaper-men. 

During  my  residence  here  I  have  been  brought  face  to 
face  with  more  fraud  journalists  than  ever  before,  and  I  am 
forced  to  lift  up  my  voice  against  it.  I  have  met  the  ordin- 
ary-tramp who  is  pleased  and  happy  if  he  be  allowed  to  eat 
cold-grub  and  sleep  beneath  the  twinkling  stars,  but  the 
newspaper-tramp  is  meaner,  more  self  assumed  and  has 
brighter  prospects  for  perdition  than  all  the  rest.  He  stands 
out  ahead  of  the  rank  and  file  of  tramps  as  a  kind  of  Major- 
General  tramp,  fearless  and  self  reliant. 

He  feels  the  nobility  of  the  profession  of  journalism,  and 
indeed  it  is  a  calling  of  which  its  followers  may  well  be 
proud,  but  the  snide  representative  of  the  press  is  too  proud. 
He  puts  on  too  many  frills. 

Perhaps  I  am  too  easily  picked  up  in  this  manner,  but  I 
cannot  help  sympathizing  with  deserving  newspaper  men 
who  lack  many  of  the  comforts  of  life.  I  have  been  there. 
I  know  what  it  is  to  battle  with  a  cold  world  and  wrestle 
with  hunger.  But  now  in  the  midst  of  prosperity,  my 
heart  goes  out  for  these  vagrants  in  such  a  way  that  just  as 
I  begin  to  get  affluent,  I  find  some  subject  for  my  charity, 
and  I  have  to  be^in  over  acrain. 

On  Monday  last  a  young  man  with  a  hopeful  light  in  his 
eye,  alighted  from  the  eastern-bound  train,  and  going  into 
the  Thornburg  House,  registered  his  name,  at  least  we  will 
play  that  it  was  his  name,  for  no  one  else  has  since  called  in 
to  claim  it. 

We  will  call  him  Brown  as  a  matter  of  convenience. 
His  front  name,  as  I  afterward  learned,  was  Ward.    I  might 


204 


BILL   NYE   AND   BOOMERANG. 


say  that,  in  putting  this  report  together,  another  Ward  has 
been  heard  from,  but  I  leave  that  for  the  docile  reader  to  do 
as  he  or  she  may  see  fit. 

Mr.  Brown  then  proceeded  to  get  acquainted  with  the 
people  of  Laramie  and  be  sociable.  He  was  not  so  reticent 
as  some  prominent  newspaper  men  are,  but  seemed  to  be 
the  rollicking,  jovial  kind.  He  said  that  he  was  the  travel- 
ling correspondent  of  the  Salt  Lake  Tribune  and  also  rep- 
resented the  Louisville  Courier- Journal. 

I  wondered  at  the  time  what  in  the  name  of  all  that  was 
handsome,  the  Courier- Journal  wanted  to  pay  a  man  and 
send  him  to  the  front  for,  with  Laramie  City  as  his  objective 
point.  Bye-and-bye  he  crossed  my  path  and  made  himself 
known.  Said  he  knew  me  by  reputation,  and  then  I  began 
to  get  alarmed.  I  was  afraid  he  was  a  detective.  But  he 
wasn't.  I  drew  him  out  on  the  subject  of  Harry  Watte  rson« 
He  knew  Hank.  Knew  him  well.  Had  slept  with  him. 
He  and  Hank  had  been  drunk  together  several  times. 

Then  I  felt  proud.  He  was  an  intimate  friend  of  a  great 
man,  and  sitting  there  talking  with  an  unsophisticated  youth 
like  me  just  as  naturally  as  life.  It  sounds  like  a  book.  I 
asked  him  up  to  my  office,  and  made  him  sit  in  my  best 
chair — the  one  with  the  four  good  legs — while  I  took  the 
foundered  one.  I  told  him  to  make  himself  perfectly  free 
with  the  luxuriant  furniture  of  the  office,  and  invited  him  to 
spit  on  the  floor  whenever  it  came  handy.  I  told  him  that 
I  knew  great  men  didn't  want  to  feel  hampered  while  chew- 
ing tobacco,  and  that  I  wanted  my  guests  to  feel  at  ease. 

He  then  took  his  knife,  cut  off  a  piece  of  tobacco,  about 
the  size  of  a  paper  weight,  threw  it  back  till  it  struck  the 
gable-end  of  his  mouth  with  a  hollow  thud,  and  proceeded 
to  unroll  the  most  gorgeous  panorama  of  falsehoods  that  X 


bill  nYe  and  boomerang.  205 

ever  listened  to.  Casually,  while  putting  the  fresco  work 
on  my  floor,  he  took  out  a  letter  from  Watterson,  and  showed 
it  to  me.  Watterson  writes  about  the  same  kind  of  a  cop- 
per-plate hand  that  I  do. 

I  wanted  to  take  the  letter  and  make  a  plaster  cast  of  it, 
but  Mr.  Brown  said  Hank  wouldn't  like  it.  The  letter 
went  on  in  a  free  and  easy  way  to  joke  Brown  about  look- 
ing too  often  on  the  maddening  bowl,  and  then  asked  him 
to  be  a  correspondent  for  the  C.  J. 

The  next  day  I  came  down  town  thinking  about  how 
easy  it  was  for  any  one,  by  a  straightforward,  honest  course, 
to  rise  in  the  world,  and  get  acquainted  with  prominent 
men.  Bye  and  bye  I  met  the  Sheriff.  He  asked  me  if  I 
didn't  want  to  go  up  to  the  jail  and  take  a  last  look  at  my 
journalistic  friend.  I  went  up.  Brown  lay  there  in  an  easy 
position  on  an  old  blanket,  in  one  of  the  cells. 

The  surroundings  seemed  to  be  in  perfect  harmony  with 
the  general  appearance  of  Mr.  Brown.  He  had  taken  off 
the  large  satin  arrangement  which  served  partly  as  a  neck- 
tie, and  partly  to  throw  the  public  off  its  guard  in  relation  to 
his  shirt.  The  shirt  was  there,  slightly  disfigured,  but  still 
in  the  ring;.  It  was  the  same  shirt  that  he  had  started  out  in 
life  with.  He  had  outgrown  it,  and  it  looked  feeble,  but  it 
was  evidently  determined  to  stay  by  Mr.  Brown. 

I  looked  at  him  and  then  broke  into  tears.  Large  $2.00 
sobs  convulsed  my  frame.  I  told  him  that  he  had  basely  im- 
posed upon  me,  and  led  me  to  believe  that  he  was  a  Repub- 
lican, and  now  he  had  removed  the  mask  as  it  were,  and  I 
could  see  that  he  was  a  Democrat.  With  these  stone  walls 
and  iron  grates,  and  that  soiled  shirt,  I  could  no  longer 
doubt. 

I  left  him,  resolving  that  he'-eafter  I  would  not  be  betrayed 


206  BILL   NYE   AND   BOOMERANG. 

by  appearances.  He  will  drift  away  into  the  mighty,  surg- 
ing mass  of  humanity,  and  we  shall  forget  it.  Perhaps, 
when  the  Governor  of  Maine  holds  a  mass  meeting  and 
re-union  at  Augusta,  he  will  be  there.  But  he  will  drop 
out  of  my  horizon  like  the  memory  of  a  red-headed  girl,  and 
I  shall  go  on  my  way  until  some  other  newspaper  man  with 
a  letter  from  Whitelaw  Reid,  or  George  Washington,  or 
Noah,  or  some  other  prominent  man,  comes  along,  and  then 
I  shall,  no  doubt,  open  up  to  his  view  the  same  untold  wealth 
of  confidence  and  generous  trust. 

Those  who  are  looking  anxiously  every  mail  for  a  copy 
of  the  Louisville  Courier- J 'oumal  or  the  Salt  Lake  Tri? 
bune,  containing  a  long  letter  about  their  town,  wrill  be  dis- 
appointed. They  will  never  come.  Through  the  long 
visita  of  years  and  down  through  the  mellow  softened  at- 
mosphere of  the  Sweet  Bye  and  Bye  I  hear  the  low,  sad 
refrain,  and  it  is  refraining,  "  Never  More."  Instead  of  the 
merry  prattle  of  Mr.  Brown  amid  the  loud  echo  of  his  ex- 
pectorations as  they  fall  with  a  startling  crash  upon  the 
marble  floor  of  my  office,  I  only  hear  the  rattle  of  the  cast 
iron  "  come-alongs  "  and  the  tearful  "  Never  More." 


HE   WAS  BLIND. 

While  engaged  the  other  day  in  writing  a  little  ode  to 
the  liver  pad,  I  heard  a  slight  noise,  and  on  looking  toward 
the  door  I  saw  a  boy  with  his  hat  in  his  hand  standing  on 
one  leg  and  thoughtfully  scratching  it  with  the  superior  toe 
of  the  other  foot. 

I  asked  the  freckled  youth  what  I  could  do  for  him,  and 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  207 

he  said  that  there  was  a  man  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  who 
wished  to  see  me.  I  asked  him  then  why  in  the  name  of  a 
great  republic  and  a  free  people  he  didn't  see  me.  Then  I 
told  the  boy  that  there  was  no  admission  fee;  that  it  was 
the  regular  afternoon  matinee,  and  it  was  a  free  show. 

The  frank  and  manly  little  fellow  then  came  forward  and 
told  me  that  the  man  was  blind. 

It  was  not  intended  as  a  joke.  It  was  a  horrible  reality, 
and  pretty  soon  a  man  into  whose  sightless  orbs  the  cheerful 
light  of  day  had  not  entered  for  many  years  came  up  the 
stairs  and  into  the  office. 

I  said :  "  Ah,  sir,  I  see  that  you  are  a  poor,  blind  man. 
You  cannot  see  the  green  grass  and  waving  trees.  While 
others  see  the  pleasant  fields  and  lovely  landscape  you 
wander  on  year  after  year  in  the  hopeless  gloom.  Poor 
man.  Do  you  not  at  times  yearn  for  immortality  and  pine 
to  be  among  the  angels  where  the  light  of  a  glorious  eter- 
nity will  enter  upon  your  sightless  vision  like  a  beautiful 
dream?" 

This  was  a  little  sentiment  that  I  had  committed  to  mem- 
ory, being  an  extract  from  the  Toutli's  Co??ipanion, 

He  wiped  away  three  or  four  scalding  tears  with  ins 
sleeve  and  said  that  he  did.  He  was  getting  means,  he  said, 
to  enable  him  to  go  to  New  York,  where  he  was  going  to 
have  his  eyes  taken  out  and  refilled.  He  also  intended  to 
have  the  cornea  filed  down  and  a  new  crystal  put  in. 

I  asked  him  how  much  he  thought  it  would  cost.  He 
said  he  thought  it  could  be  arranged  so  that  $1,000  would 
pay  the  bill.  At  first  I  started  to  draw  a  check  for  that 
amount,  and  then  I  thought  I  would  try  him  with  a  dollar 
first 

He  took  the  dollar  and  walked  sadly  away. 


2oS  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

It  always  makes  me  feel  bad  when  I  see  a  fellow  creature 
who  is  doomed  with  uncertain  steps  and  sightless  eyes  to 
tread  his  weary  way  through  life,  and  I  cannot  be  happy 
when  I  know  that  such  misery  is  abroad  in  the  land.  I 
thought  how  much  I  had  to  be  thankful  for,  how  fortunate 
I  had  been  to  have  all  my  senses  and  my  bright  and  beauti- 
ful intellect,  that  I  wouldn't  take  $400  for. 

Then  I  wandered  out  to  a  saloon  on  A  street  to  get  a 
cigar.  The  blind  man  was  there.  He  had  just  poured  out 
about  six  fingers  of  Jamaica  rum  and  was  setting  them  up 
for  the  boys.  I  thought  I  would  stand  in  with  the  arrange- 
ment, so  I  leaned  up  against  the  bar  in  very  classic  style 
and  took  two  cigars  at  twenty-five  cents  apiece. 

When  he  came  to  pay  for  the  goods  he  shoved  out  the 
dollar  I  gave  him,  which  I  recognized,  because  it  was  a 
pewter  dollar,  and  a  very  inferior  pewter  dollar  at  that. 

The  bartender  kicked  like  a  roan  cow,  and  while  the  ex- 
citement was  at  its  height  I  stole  away  to  where  I  could  be 
alone  with  my  surging  thoughts. 

The  blind  man  is  still  in  town,  but  he  is  not  succeeding 
very  well.  Unfortunately  he  has  told  several  large  open- 
faced  lies  and  the  feeling  of  pity  for  him  has  petered  out,  if 
I  may  be  allowed  that  expression. 

When  he  is  sober  he  is  going  to  have  his  eyes  operated 
on  at  New  York,  and  when  he  is  drunk  he  is  going  to  have 
them  attended  to  in  San  Francisco.  This  gives  the  general 
appearance  of  insincerity  to  his  remarks,  and  the  merciless 
public  yearns  for  him  to  pack  his  night  shirt,  like  the  Arabs? 
and  silently  steal  away. 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  2O0. 

THOUGHTS  OF  THE  MELLOW  PBEVIOUSLY. 

It  is  the  evening  of  St.  Valentine's  Day,  and  I  am  think- 
ing: of  the  Ions:  ago.  St.  Valentine's  Day  is  nothing  novV 
but  a  blessed  memory.  Another  landmark  has  been  left 
behind  in  our  onward  march  toward  the  great  hereafter. 
We  come  upon  the  earth,  battle  a  little  while  with  its  joys? 
and  its  griefs,  and  then  we  pass  away  to  give  place  to  other 
actors  on  the  mightv  stage. 

Only  a  few  short  years  ago  what  an  era  St.  Valentine's 
Day  was  to  me.  Now  I  still  get  valentines,  but  they  are 
different  and  they  affect  me  differently.  fgLulfr 
They  are  not  of  so  high  an  order  of  merit  Jfi  fc\> 
artistically,  and  the  poetry  is  more  impu-  KVh|£ 
dent  and  less  on  the  turtle-dove  order. 

Some  may  be  neglected  on  St.  Valen- 
tine's  Day,  but   I   am    not.     I   never  go 
away  by  myself  and  get  mad  because  I 
have  been   overlooked.     I  generally   get 
valentines  enough  to  paper  a  large  hall. 
I  file  them  away  carefully  and  sell  them       THE  REPORTER- 
back  to  the  dealer  for  next  year.     Then  the  following  St. 
Valentine's   Day   I  love  to  look  at  the  familiar  features  of 
those  I  have  received  in  the  years  agone. 

One  of  these  blessed  valentines  I  have  learned  to  love  as 
I  do  my  life.  I  received  it  first  in  1870.  It  represents  a 
newspaper  reporter  with  a  nose  on  him  like  the  woman's 
suffrage  movement.  It  is  a  large,  enthusiastic  nose  of  a 
bright  bay  color,  with  bias  folds  of  the  same,  shirred  with 
dregs  of  wine.  How  well  I  know  that  nose.  The  report- 
er is  represented  in  tight  green  pants  and  orange  coat.  The 
vest  is  scarlet  and  the  necktie  is  maroon,  shot  with  old  gold. 
*14 


2io  Sill  nye  And  boomerang. 

The  picture  represents  the  young  journalist  as  a  little  bit 
disposed  to  be  brainy.  The  intellect  is  large  and  abnorm- 
ally prominent.  It  hangs  out  over  the  deep-set  eyes  like 
the  minority  juror  on  the  average  panel. 

I  can  not  help  contrasting  this  dazzling  five-cent  valen- 
tine with  the  delicate  little  poem  in  pale  blue  and  Torchon 
lace  which  I  received  in  the  days  of  yore  from  the  red- 
headed girl  with  the  wart  on  her  thumb.  _^,  fc4  >  ,v  little  of 
genuine  pleasure  have  fame  and  fortune  to  offer  us  com- 
pared with  that  of  sitting  behind  the  same  school  desk  with 
the  Bismarck  blonde  of  the  school  and  with  her  alternately 
masticating  the  same  hunk  of  spruce  gum! 

I  sometimes  chew  gum  nowadays  to  see  if  it  will  bring 
back  the  old  pleasant  sensations,  but  it  don't.  The  teacher 
is  not  watching  me  now.  There  is  too  little  restraint,  and 
the  companion  too  who  then  assisted  in  operating  the  gum 
business,  and  used  to  spit  on  her  slate  with  such  elegance 
and  abandon,  and  wipe  it  thoughtfully  off  with  her  apron, 
she  too  is  gone.  One  summer  day  when  the  little  birds 
were  pouring  forth  their  lay,  and  the  little  lambs  were 
frisking  on  the  green  sward,  and  yanking  their  tails  athwart 
the  ambient  air,  she  lit  out  for  the  great  untried  West  with 
a  grasshopper  sufferer.  The  fluff  and  bloom  of  existence 
for  her  too  is  gone.  She  bangs  eternal  punishment  out  of 
thirteen  consecutive  children  near  Ogallalla,  Nebraska,  and 
wears  out  her  sweet  girlish  nature  working  up  her  hus- 
band's underclothes  into  a  rag  carpet.  It  seems  tough,  but 
such  is  life. 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  211 

MY    TOMBSTONE    MINE. 

Camp  on  Alder  Gulch,  June  18,  1880. 

The  general  feeling  of  expectation  and  suspense  which  is 
the  natural  result  of  recent  mineral  discoveries  near  to  any 
mining  town,  is  still  prevalent.  If  possible  it  is  on  the  in- 
crease, and  all  the  prevailing  indications  of  profound  mys- 
tery are  visible  everywhere.  There  is  a  general  air  of 
knowing  something  that  other  people  do  not.  Almost  every 
man  is  hugging  to  his  bosom  a  ponderous  secret  which  is 
slowly  crushing  him,  while  all  his  fellow  men  are  trying  to 
hold  down  the  same  secret. 

Occasionally  a  man  comes  to  me,  takes  my  ear  and  wrap- 
ping it  around  his  arm  two  or  three  times  so  that  I  can't 
get  away,  he  tells  me  that  he  knows  where  there  is  the  rich- 
est thing  in  America.  Only  he  and  his  wife  and  another 
man  and  his  wife  know  where  this  wonderful  wealth  is  to 
be  found. 

He  asks  me  to  come  into  it  so  that  capital  will  then  be  in- 
terested. I  agree  to  it  and  on  the  way  to  the  camp  I  over- 
take the  able-bodied  men  of  Wyoming,  all  of  whom  are 
trying  in  their  poor,  weak  way  to  keep  the  same  secret. 

Such  is  life. 

Sometimes  I  think  that  perhaps  I  had  better  give  up 
mining.  I  do  not  seem  to  get  the  hang  of  the  thing,  some- 
how. All  the  claims  I  get  hold  of  are  rich  in  nothing  but 
assessments,  while  less  deserving  men  catch  on  to  the 
bonanzas. 

Once  I  located  a  vein  which  showed  what  I  called  good 
indications  of  a  permanent  vein,  staked  it  out  under  the 
United  States  law  and  Went  to  work  on  it.  I  paid  out  $11 
for  sharpening   picks  alone,  in   going  down  fen  feet  to  hold 


212  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

it.  It  was  mighty  hard  quartz,  but  the  lead  grew  wider  and 
better  defined  all  the  time  till  I  got  down  ten  feet  and  had 
an  assay. 

The  assayer  said  that  I  had  struck  a  marble  quarry,  but 
it  was  very  inferior  marble  after  all.  Besides  I  found  after- 
ward that  it  was  owned  by  Jay  Gould  and  some  other 
tender  feet  from  New  York. 

Then  I  relocated  the  claim  and  called  it  The  Marble-Top 
Cemetery  Lode,  and  went  away.  Probably  if  I  had  gone 
down  on  it,  the  ore  would  have  shown  free  milling  tomb- 
stones and  Power's  Greek  slaves  and  all  that  kind  of  busi- 
ness, but  I  felt  kind  of  depressed  all  the  time  while  I  was 
at  work  on  it.  There  was  a  kind  of  "  Hark  from  the  tombs 
a  doleful  sound,"  air  about  the  whole  mine. 

Cummins  City  still  booms.  Building  lots  have  gone  up  to 
$100  each.  This  for  a  place  where  a  few  weeks  ago  the 
song  of  the  coyote  was  heard  in  the  land,  and  where  the  val- 
ley of  the  river,  and  bald  sides  of  the  rugged  mountains  were 
unscarred,  is  a  good  showing. 

The  magical  power  of  a  mineral  excitement  to  transform 
the  bleak  prairie  and  the  rocky  canyon  into  a  thriving  vil- 
lage at  once,  is  something  to  command  our  admiration  and 
wonder. 

Two  months  ago,  I  might  say,  the  little  village  of  Cum- 
mins City  was  nothing  but  a  little  caucus  of  prairie  dogs, 
and  a  ward  meeting  of  woodticks. 

Now  look  at  it.  Opera  houses,  orphan  asylums,  hurdy- 
gurdies,  churches,  barber  shops,  ice-cream  saloons,  dog-fights, 
musical  soirees,  spruce  gum,  bowling-allies,  salvation,  and 
three  card  monte.  Everything  in  fact  that  the  heart  of  man 
could  yearn  after* 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  213 

As  you  drive  up  Euclid  Avenue,  you  smell  the  tropicai 
fragrance  of  frying  bacon,  and  hear  the  recorder  of  the 
district  murmuring  with  a  profane  murmur  because  his 
bread  won't  raise.  Here  and  there  along  the  river  bank, 
like  a  lot  of  pic-nickers,  the  guileless  miners  are  panning 
pounded  quartz,  or  submitting  their  socks  to  the  old  process 
for  freeing  them  from  decomj:>osed  quartzite,  and  non- 
argentiferous  clayite.  Flying  from  the  dome  of  the  opera 
house  is  a  red  flannel  shirt,  while  a  pair  of  corpulent  drawers 
of  the  same  ruddy  complexion,  is  gathering  all  the  clear, 
bracing  atmosphere  of  that  locality. 

As  a  picturesque  tower  on  the  roof  of  the  Grand  Central, 
the  architect  has  erected  a  minaret  or  donjon  keep,  which  is 
made  to  represent  a  salt  barrel.  So  true  to  life  is  this  new 
and  unique  design,  that  sometimes  the  cattle  which  roam  up 
and  down  Euclid  Avenue,  climb  up  on  the  mansard  roof  of 
the  Grand  Central,  and  lick  the  salt  off  the  donjon  keep,  and 
fall  over  the  battlements  into  the  moated  culverin,  or  stick 
their  feet  through  the  roof  and  rattle  the  pay  gravel  into  the 
custard  pie  and  cottage  pudding. 

Bill  Root,  the  stage  driver,  went  out  there  during  the 
early  days  of  the  camp,  and  with  more  or  less  red  liquor 
stowed  away  among  his  vitals. 

William  is  quite  sociable  and  entertaining,  even  under 
ordinary  circumstances,  but  when  he  has  thawed  out  his 
digestion  with  fire-water,  he  talks  a  good  deal.  He  is  soci- 
able to  that  extent  that  the  bystander  is  steeped  in  profound 
silence  while  William  proceeds  to  unfold  his  spring  stock  of 
information.  On  the  following  morning  William  awoke 
with  a  seal  brown  taste  in  his  mouth,  and  wrapped  in  speech- 
less misery.  There  was  no  cardinal  liquor  in  the  camp,  (a" 
Condition  of  affairs  which  does  not  now  exist,)  so  that  WO- 


214  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

liam  was  silent.  On  the  amputating  table  of  the  leading 
veterinary  surgeon  of  Cummins  City  was  found  a  tongue 
that  had  just  been  removed.  It  was  really  cut  from  the 
mouth  of  a  horse  that  had  nearly  severed  it  himself,  by  draw- 
ing a  lariat  through  it:  but  the  story  soon  gained  currency 
that  an  indignant  camp  had  risen  in  its  might,  and  visited  its 
vengeance  on  William  Root  for  turning  loose  his  conversa- 
tional powers  on  the  previous  day. 

Great  excitement  was  manifested  throughout  the  camp, 
as  William  had  not  uttered  a  word  as  yet.  Toward  noon, 
however,  a  party  of  hardened  miners,  carrying  a  willow- 
covered  lunch  basket  with  a  cork  in  the  top,  arrived  in 
camp,  and  shortly  after  that  it  was  ascertained  that  the  con- 
versational powers  of  Mr.  Root  still  remained  unimpaired. 

The  chaplain  of  the  camp  set  a  day  for  fasting  and  prayer, 
and  the  red  flannel  shirt  on  the  dome  of  the  opera  house 
was  hung  at  half-mast  in  token  of  the  universal  sorrow  and 
distress. 

This  is  a  true  story,  which  accounts  for  the  awkward 
manner  in  which  I  have  told  it. 


BANKRUPT  SALE  OF  A  CIRCUS. 

As  I  write  these  lines  my  heart  is  filled  with  bitterness 
and  woe.  There  is  a  feeling  of  deep  disappointment  this 
morning  that  has  cast  my  soul  down  into  the  very  depths  of 
sadness.  Some  years  ago  the  legislature  of  Wyoming  con- 
ceived the  stupendous  idea  that  the  circus  instead  of  being 
man's  best  friend  and  assistant  in  his  onward  march  through 
life,  was  after  all  a  snare  and  a  delusion. 

This  august  body  then  passed  a  law  that  fixed  the  licenses 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  215 

of  circuses  showing  in  Wyoming  Territory  at  $250,  which 
was  of  course  an  embargo  on  the  show  business  that,  as  I 
might  say,  laid  it  out  colder  than  a  wedge  so  far  as  Wyom- 
ing Territory  was  concerned. 

The  history  of  that  law  is  a  history  of  repeated  injury 
and  usurpation.  Our  people  were  bowed  down  to  the  earth 
with  the  iron  heel  of  an  unjust  legislature  and  forced  to 
drag  out  the  weary  years  without  the  pleasures  which  come 
to  other  States  and  other  Territories. 

In  the  midst  of  this  overhanging  gloom,  there  were  two 
men»who  were  not  afraid  of  the  all  powerful  legislature,  but 
boldly  lifted  up  their  voices  and  denounced  with  clarion  tone 
and  dauntless  eye  the  great  wrong  that  had  been  done  to 
our  people. 

One  of  these  men  was  a  tall,  fine-looking  man,  with 
piercing  eye  and  noble  mein.  He  stood  out  at  the  front  in 
this  unequal  war  and  with  his  silvery  hair  streaming  in  the 
mountain  zephyrs,  he  told  the  legislature  that  a  justly  in- 
dignant people  would  claim  at  the  hands  of  her  law-makers 
a  full  and  ample  retribution  for  the  tyrannical  act. 

Judge  Blair,  Associate  Justice  of  the  Supreme  Court  of 
Wyoming,  whether  at  the  social  gathering  or  the  quarterly 
meeting,  never  lost  an  opportunity  to  condemn  the  unright- 
eous act  or  to  labor  for  its  abolishment.  He  fearlessly  ad^ 
journed  court  time  after  time  in  order  that  the  jury  might 
go  to  Denver  or  Salt  Lake  to  attend  the  circus,  and  em- 
bodied in  one  of  his  opinions  on  the  bench  the  everlasting 
truth  that  "  the  usurpation  of  the  people's  prerogatives  by 
the  lawmakers  of  any  State  or  Territory,  in  so  far  as  to  de- 
prive them  of  a  divine  right  inherent  in  their  very  natures, 
and  compelling  them  to  undergo  a  slavish  isolation  from  the 
Mammoth  Aggregation   of  Living  Wonder?  »?>d  Colossal 


2l6  BILL   NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

Galaxy  of  Arenic  Talent,  was  unjust  in  its  conception  and 
criminal  in  its  enforcement."  See  Boggs  vs.  Boggs,  981. 
The  other  dauntless  antagonist  of  the  tyrannical  law  was  a 
young  man  with  pale  seldom  hair,  and  a  broad  open  brow 
that  bulged  out  into  space  like  a  sore  thumb.  He  was 
slender  in  form  like  a  parallel  of  longitude,  with  a  nose  on 
him  that  looked  like  a  thing  of  life.  This  young  man  was 
myself. 

Together  we  talked  in  season  and  out  of  season,  laboring 
with  the  law-makers  with  an  energy  worthy  of  a  better 
cause.  • 

We  met  with  scorn  and  rebuffs  on  every  hand,  and  the 
cold,  hard  world  laughed  at  us,  and  unfeelingly  jeered  at 
our  ceaseless  attempts.  But  we  labored  on  till  last  winter, 
the  welcome  telegram  was  flashed  over  the  wires  that  the 
despotic  measure  was  no  more. 

Then  there  was  a  general  joy  all  over  the  Territory. 
Judge  Blair  sang  in  that  impassioned  way  of  his,  which 
makes  a  confirmed  invalid  reconciled  to  death,  and  I  danced. 

When  I  dance  there  is  a  wild  originality  about  the  gyra- 
tions that  startles  those  who  are  timid,  and  causes  the  aver- 
age, unprotected  ballroom-belle  to  climb  up  on  the  platform 
with  the  orchestra,  where  she  will  be  safe. 

Bye-and-bye  the  young  man  with  the  step-ladder  and  the 
large  oil  paintings,  and  the  long-handled  paste  brush  came 
to  town,  and  put  some  magnificent  decalcomania  pictures  on 
the  bill-boards  and  fences;  and  Judge  Blair  and  I  patted 
each  other  on  the  back,'  and  laughed  seven  or  eight  silvery 
laughs. 

But  in  the  midst  of  our  unfettered  glee  a  telegram  came 
from  Denver  that  the  circus  that  had  billed  our  town  had 
been  attached  by  the  sheriff*     It  seems  that  the  elephant 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  2l^J 

had  broken  into  a  warehouse  in  Denver  and  had  eaten  160 
bales  of  hay,  worth  $100  each  in  the  Leadville  market. 
The  owner  of  the  hay  then  attached  the  show  in  order  to 
secure  pay  for  the  hay. 

This  necessitated  a  long  delay  and  finally  a  sale  of  the 
circus.  Everything  went,  the  big  elephant  and  the  baby 
elephant,  the  band  chariot  with  a  cross-eyed  hyena  painted 
on  it,  the  steam  calliope  that  couldn't  play  anything  but 
M  Silver  Threads  Among  the  Gold,"  the  sacred  jackass  from 
North  Park,  the  red-nosed  babboon  from  New  Jersey,  the 
sore-eyed  prairie  dog  from  Jack  Creek,  the  sway-backed 
grizzly  bear  from  York  State,  and  the  second-hand  clown 
from  Dubuque,  all  had  to  go. 

Then  they  opened  a  package  of  petrified  jokes  and  an- 
tique conundrums  that  had  been  exhumed  from  the  ruins  of 
Pompeii.  It  seemed  almost  like  sacrilege,  but  the  ruthless 
auctioneer  tore  these  prehistoric  jokes  from  the  sarcophagus 
and  knocked  them  down  to  the  gaping  throng  for  whatever 
they  would  bring. 

The  show  was  valued  at  $2,000,000  on  the  large  illus- 
trated catalogues  and  bright-hued  posters,  but  after  the  costs 
of  attachment  and  sale  had  been  paid  there  was  only  $231 
left. 

Oh!  what  a  sacrifice.  How  little  there  is  in  this  brief 
transitory  life  of  ours  that  is  abiding.  How  few  of  our 
bright  hopes  are  ever  realized.  How  many  glad  promises 
are  held  out  to  us  for  the  roseate  future  that  never  reach 
fruition. 


2l8  BILL   NYE    AND   BOOMERANG. 

GREELEY  VERSUS  VALLEY  TAN. 

I  stopped  over  one  day  at  Greeley  on  my  return.  Greeley 
is  the  town  after  which  Horace  Greeley  was  named.  It  is 
enclosed  by  a  fence  and  embraces  a  large  tract  of  very  fine 
agricultural  land. 

The  editor  of  the  Tribune  had  just  received  a  brand  new 
power  press.  I  asked  him  to  come  out  and  take  something. 
He  did  not  seem  to  grasp  my  meaning  exactly. 

Afterward  I  wandered  about  the  town  thinking  how 
much  dryer  the  air  is  in  Greeley  than  in  Denver.  The 
throat  rapidly  becomes  parched,  and  yet  the  inducements 
for  the  visitor  to  step  in  at  various  places  and  chew  a  clove 
or  two  are  very  rare  indeed.  I  thought  what  a  dull,  melan- 
choly day  the  Fourth  of  July  must  be  in  Greeley,  and  how 
tame  and  dull  life  must  be  to  those  who  experience  a  uniform 
size  of  head  from  year  to  year.  The  blessed  novelty  of 
rising  in  the  morning  with  a  dark  brown  taste  in  the  mouth 
and  the  cheerful  feeling  that  your  head  is  so  large  that  you 
can't  possibly  get  it  out  through  your  bed-room  door,  are 
sensations  that  do  not  enter  here. 

All  the  water  not  used  at  Greeley  for  irrigating  purposes 
is  worked  up  into  a  light,  nutritious  drink  for  the  people. 


THE  ETERNAL  FITNESS   OF  THINGS. 

An  exchange  comes  out  with  an  article  giving  the  former 
residence  and  occupation  of  those  who  are  immediately  con- 
nected with  the  Indian  management.  It  will  be  seen  that 
they  are,  almost  without  an  exception,  from  the  Atlantic 
coa?t,  where  they  have  h^d  about  the  same  opportunity  to 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  2l<) 

become  acquainted  with  the  duties  pertaining  to  their  ap- 
pointment as  Lucifer  has  had  for  the  past  two  thousand 
years  to  form  a  warm  personal  acquaintance  with  the  pro- 
phet Isaiah. 

With  all  due  respect  to  the  worthy  descendants  of  the 
Pilgrim  Fathers,  and  not  wishing  to  cast  a  slur  upon  the 
ability  or  the  integrity  of  the  dwellers  along  the  rock-bound 
coast  of  New  England,  I  will  say  in  the  mildest  manner 
possible  that  these  men  are  no  more  fit  to  manage  hostile 
Indians  than  Perdition  is  naturally  fitted  for  a  powder  house. 
A  man  may  successfully  cope  with  the  wild  and  fierce 
codfish  in  his  native  jungle,  or  beard  the  salt  water  clam  in 
his  den,  and  still  signally  fail  as  an  Indian  agent.  The  cod- 
fish is  not  treacherous.  He  may  be  bold,  blood-thirsty  and 
terrible,  but  he  will  never  go  back  on  a  treaty.  Who  ever 
heard  of  a  codfish  going  back  on  "his  word?  Who  ever 
heard  of  a  codfish  leaving  the  Reservation  and  spreading 
desolation  over  the  land  ?  No  one.  The  expression  on  the 
face  of  a  codfish  shows  that  he  is  perfectly  open  and  above 

board. 

We  might  say  the  same  of  the  clam.  Of  course  if  driven 
to  the  wall,  as  it  were,  he  will  fight;  but  we  have  yet  to 
find  a  single  instance  in  the  annals  of  history  where  the 
clam — unless  grossly  insulted  and  openly  put  upon,  ever 
made  an  open  outbreak. 

This  is  why  we  claim  that  clam  culture  and  Indian  man- 
agement are  not  analogous.  They  are  not  simultaneous 
nor  co-extensive.     They  are  not  identical  nor  homogeneous. 

I  feel  that  in  treating  this  subject  in  my  candid  and  truth- 
ful way,  perhaps  the  Administration  will  feel  hurt  and 
grieved;  but  if  so  I  can't  help  it.  The  great  reading  pub- 
lic seems  to  look  to  me,  as  much  as  to  say :     "  What  are 


220  SILL   NV£   ANft   BOOMERANG* 

your  views  on  this  great  subject  which  is  agitating  the  pub- 
lic mind?"  I  can't  evade  it,  and  even  if  President  Hayes 
were  an  own  brother,  instead  of  being  a  warm,  personal 
friend  and  admirer,  I  would  certainly  speak  right  out  as  I 
have  spoken  out,  and  tell  the  whole  broad  Republic  of 
Columbia  that  to  successfully  steer  a  hostile  tribe  of  nervous, 
refractory  and  irritable  Indian  bummers  past  the  rocks  and 
shoals  of  war  is  one  thing,  and  to  drive  a  salt  water  clam 
up  a  hickory  tree  and  kill  him  with  a  club,  is  entirely  an- 
other thing. 


THEY  UNANIMOUSLY  AROSE  AND    HUNG  HIM. 

I  was  talking  the  other  day  with  a  Laramie  City  man 
about  Leadville,  he  said : 

"In  addition  to  the  fact  of  Laramie  money  being  now  in- 
vested there,  we  have  sent  many  good  citizens  there  to  build 
up  homes  and  swell  the  boom  of  the  young  city.  We  also 
sent  several  there  of  whom  we  are  not  proud.  We  still 
hold  them  in  loving  remembrance.  Sometimes  we  go 
through  the  motions  of  getting  judgments  against  these 
men,  and  making  transcripts  with  big  seals  on  them,  and 
sending  to  Leadville  to  be  placed  on  the  execution  docket 
of  Lake  county. 

"  We  also  sent  Edward  Frodsham  to  Leadville.  We  in- 
timated to  him  that  life  was  very  brief  and  that  if  he  wanted 
to  gather  a  little  stake  to  leave  his  family  perhaps  he  could 
do  so  faster  in  Leadville  than  anywhere  else.  So  he  went. 
He  is  there  now.  He  at  once  won  the  notice  of  the  public 
there  and  soon  became  the  recipient  of  the  most  flattering 
attentions.     A  little  band  of  American  citizens  one  evening 


felLL   NYE    AND    BOOMEUANG.  22i 

took  him  out  on  the  plaza,  or  something  of  that  kind,  and 
hung:  him  last  fall. 

"  The  maple  turned  to  crimson  and  the  sassafras  to  gold, 
and  when  the  morning  woke  the  song  of  the  bunko-steerer 
and  the  robin,  Mr.  Frodsham  was  on  his  branch  all  right, 
but  he  couldn't  seem  to  get  in  his  work  as  a  songster. 
There  seemed  to  be  a  stricture  in  the  glottis,  and  the  dia- 
phragm wouldn't  buzz.  The  gorgeous  dyes  of  the  autumn 
sunrise  seemed  strangely  at  variance  with  the  gen  d'arm 
blue  of  Mr.  Frodsham's  countenance. 

"  His  death  calls  to  mind  one  sunny  day  in  the  midsum- 
mer of  '78.  It  was  one  of  those  days  when  there  is  a  lull 
in  the  struggle  for  existence,  and  the  dreamy  silence  and 
hush  of  nature  seem  to  be  concurred  in  by  a  committee  of 
the  whole. 

It  was  one  of  those  days  when,  in  the  language  of  the 
average  magazine  poet — 

The  flowers  bloomed,  the  air  was  mild, 

The  little  birds  poured  forth  their  lay, 
And  everything  in  nature  smiled. 

"  But  soon  from  out  the  silence,  bursting  upon  the  quiet 
air,  came  the  sharp  report  of  a  pistol.  Then  another  and 
another  in  rapid  succession.  People  who  were  going  to 
trade  in  [that  locality  suddenly  thought  of  other  places  of 
business  where  the  same  articles  could  be  obtained  cheaper. 
Men  who  were  not  afraid  of  danger  in  any  form,  went 
away  because  they  didn't  want  to  be  called  as  witnesses  on 
the  inquest. 

"  The  shooting  went  on  for  some  time.  It  sounded  like 
the  battle  of  the  Wilderness.  After  a  while  it  ceased.  A 
large  party  of  men  went  out  to  gather  up  the  dead  and  ar- 


222  BILL   NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

range  for  a  grand  funeral.  But  the  remains  were  not  so 
dead  as  they  ought  to  be.  There  were  bullet  holes  to  be 
sure,  penetrating  various  parts  of  the  combatants,  but  the 
funeral  had  to  be  postponed.  The  sidewalks  were  plowed 
up,  signs  were  riddled  and  windows  shattered,  but  Edward 
Frodsham  got  off  with  a  bullet  hole  through  the  side.  The 
doctor  pronounced  it  a  very  close  call,  but  not  necessarily 
fatal.  It  was  a  terrible  disappointment  to  every  one.  As 
a  shooting  match  it  was  a  depressing  failure,  and  as  a  double 
funeral  it  was  not  deserving  of  mention. 

"  The  city  council  told  Frodsham  that  if  he  couldn't  shoot 
better  than  that  he  might  select  some  young  growing  town 
outside  of  Wyoming  and  grow  up  with  it.  He  did  so.  He 
favored  Colorado  with  his  stirring,  energetic  presence. 

"His  grave  grows  green  to-day  on  the  sunny  hill-side 
'neath  the  bending  willow,  and  the  soft,  sweet  breath  that  is 
sighing  through  the  pines  and  stirring  the  delicate  ferns  be- 
side the  glassy  depth  of  the  mountain  stream,  is  singing  his 
requiem.  [Perhaps,  however,  I  am  rushing  the  season  for 
Leadville  a  little;  if  so  the  last  refrain  after  the  word 
1  presence,'  may  be  wrapped  up  in  warm  flannels  and  stored 
away  till  July.]  " 


RHETORIC  VS.  WOODTICK. 

Camp  on  the  New  Jerusalem  Mine,  June  15. 
It  is  impossible  at  present  to  say  anything  about  what  the 
future  of  this  district  may  bring  forth.  Every  lead  shows 
up  beautifully,  and  so  much  so,  in  fact,  that  claim  owners  are 
working  first  one  and  then  another  in  order  to  hold  them 
under  the  new  law,  which  requires  an  amount  of  work  to 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  223 

be  done  on  the  lead  within  sixty  days  which  is  generally 
only  required  within  one  year.  This  new  regulation,  which 
is  the  act  of  the  district  of  course,  may  not  stand  any  very 
severe  test,  but  at  present  the  miners  are  respecting  it. 

It  is  severe  on  me,  however,  and  virtually  leaves  me  out. 
What  I  need  is  a  law  that  will  not  ride  over  and  overthrow 
and  freeze  out  the  poor  man.  This  law  is  passed  in  the  in- 
terest of  capital  and  in  direct  violation  of  the  rights  and 
privileges  of  the  great  surging  mass  of  horny-handed  work- 
ingmen  like  Brick  Pomeroy  and  myself. 

I  havn't  the  time  to  particularize  or  describe  the  different 
mines  visited,  and  if  I  were  to  do  so  the  chances  are  that  I 
wouldn't  cover  myself  or  the  district  with  glory. 

It  is  true  that  I  know  a  foot  wall  from  a  windlass,  with 
one  hand  tied  behind  me,  but  if  I  were  buying  a  mine  I 
would  be  about  as  apt  to  purchase  a  deposit  of  sulphurets 
of  expectations,  showing  traces  of  free  milling  telluride  of 
disappointment,  as  anything  else. 

The  camp  has  about  300  miners  and  prospectors  now 
within  the  city  limits.  All  up  and  down  the  picturesque 
valley  of  the  swift-flowing  river  the  low  cabin  and  white 
tent  dot  the  green  sward,  and  far  above  the  everlasting  hills 
rear  their  heads  on  high,  torn  by  the  Titanic  power  of  giant 
heat  in  the  days  of  the  long  ago. 

I  said  this  to  Professor  Paige,  the  scientific  correspondent 
of  the  Inter-Ocean,  who  accompanied  me.  I  thought  that 
perhaps  it  would  tickle  him  to  know  that  I  could  reel  off  a 
sentence  like  that,  but  it  didn't  affect  him  in  that  way.  On 
the  contrary,  he  seemed  to  think  that  the  heat  must  have 
affected  me  in  some  way. 

We  climbed  Jehu  mountain  on  the  evening  that  we  ar- 
rived in  camp.     We  thought  it  would  be  the  proper  thing 


224  SILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

to  do,  so  we  dug  our  toe-nails  into  the  prehistoric  granite 
and  the  micacious  what's-his-name  and  climbed  to  the  top. 

For  a  few  minutes  we  didn't  mind  it  much  and  got  along 
rirst-rate,  trying  to  make  each  believe  that  climbing  moun- 
tains was  our  regular  business. 

I  began  to  tell  the  Professor  a  little  harmless  lie  about 
how  I  had  travelled  among  the  Alps,  but  I  didn't  finish  it. 
Somehow  I  felt  like  breathing  in  what  atmosphere  was  not 
in  actual  use,  but  I  didn't  have  any  place  to  put  it. 

The  air  at  Jehu  Mountain  is  good  enough  what  there  is 
of  it,  but  it  is  too  rare.  If  a  man  could  let  out  the  back 
straps  of  his  vest  and  breathe  in  the  unoccupied  atmosphere 
lying  between  the  Laramie  river  and  the  Zodiac  it  would 
be  all  right,  but  he  can't  do  it.  His  intentions  are  good,  but 
his  skin  isn't  elastic  enough  to  hold  the  diluted  fluid. 

We  climbed  up  to  where  we  could  see  the  silvery  moon 
rising  like  a  pale  schoolma'am  and  looking  sadly  across  the 
dark  valley  asleep  in  night's  embrace.  I  thought  it  was 
time  to  say  something. 

u  Professor,"  said  I,  as  my  brow  lighted  up  like  a  torch- 
light procession,  and  my  voice  broke  upon  the  hush  and 
solitude  of  evening  like  the  tremulous  notes  of  the  buzz 
saw,  "  do  you  not  think  that  far  away  amid  the  unknown 
worlds  which  drift  through  space  and  along  whose  track 
the  drifting  systems  of  planets  wheel  and  circle  through 
countless  ages,  while  man, 

Clothed  in  a  little  brief  authority,  cuts  such  fantastic  tricks 
Before  high  heaven  as  makes  the  angels  weep, 

regarding  himself  as  the  center  of  the  solar  system,  planning 
to  frustrate  the  immutable  laws  of  nature,  violating  the  prime 
and  co-ordinate  common   law  of  universes,  going  behind 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  225 

the  returns,  as  it  were,  trying  to  peer  behind  the  veil,  as  I 
might  say,  prognosticating  the  unprognosticatable,  evading 
the  axioms  and  by  laws  which  not  only  regulate  worlds 
and  their  creation,  but  link  the  phantasmagoria  of  diagonal 
animalculae  and  cast  broadcast  the  oleaginous  incongruity  of 
prehistoric  usufruct?" 

The  Professor  didn't  say  anything.  He  didn't  seem  to 
have  followed  me.  Somewhere  the  thread  had  been  broken, 
and  the  glowing  truths  couched  in  such  language  as  would 
light  up  the  pages  of  history  and  astronomy,  were  lost  upon, 
the  silent  air. 

The  Professor  seemed  sad  and  anxious  and  preoccupied. 

There  was  a  look  of  apprehension  and  doubt  and  distrust  in 

his  eye,  and  he  moved  about  uneasily.     I  asked  him  if  there 

were  any  last  words  that  I  could  carry  to  his  friends,  and  il 

there  were  any  little  acts  of  humanity  and  friendship  which 

I  could  perform  to  render  his  last  moments  more  pleasant. 

He  said  there  were. 

********* 

Then  he  told  me  that  a  wood-tick  was  slowly  but  surely 
boring  a  hole  into  his  spinal  column,  near  where  the  off 
scapula  forms  a  junction  with  the  nigh  one,  and  asked  me 
to  help  bring  him  to  justice. 

We  should  learn  from  this  that  heaven-born  genius,  with 
the  music  of  poetic  language  and  aflame  with  an  inspiration 
almost  miraculous,  sometimes  makes  less  impression  upon 
the  listener  than  a  little  insect  no  larger  than  a  grain  of 
mustard  seed. 


*15 


226  BILI,   NYE    AND   BOOMERANG. 

THE   MODEL  WIFE. 

Dr.  Westwood  lectured  here  on  Wednesday  evening 
on  the  Model  Husband.  He  wanted  me  to  sit  upon  the 
stage  as  the  horrible  example,  but  I  declined.  He  was 
quite  pointed  in  his  remarks  all  the  way  through,  and 
seemed  to  have  me  in  his  mind  when  he  described  the 
model  husband,  although  of  course  he  used  a  fictitious  name. 
The  lecture  was  a  good  one,  and  very  well  liked  by  the 
husbands  who  had  to  sit  and  take  it  for  an  hour  and  a  half. 
Let  the  gentle  male  reader  imagine  himself  sitting  for  that 
length  of  time  with  his  own  wife  on  one  side  of  him  and 
another  man's  wife  on  the  other  side  of  him,  and  when  the 
speaker  makes  a  point  on  the  old  man  to  get  alternate  jabs 
in  the  side  from  the  delighted  ladies. 

I  shall  lecture  here  during  the  winter  on  the  subject  of 
the  "  Model  Wife."  I  will  then  get  even.  I  will  tell  how 
the  young  man  with  bright  hopes,  and  thinking  only  of  the 
great,  consuming  love  he  has  for  his  new  sj:>ouse,  is  torn 
away  from  the  hallowed  ties  of  home  and  the  sunny  in- 
fluences of  young  companions,  and  buried  in  the  poverty- 
stricken  cottage  of  a  woman  who  cannot  begin  to  support 
him  in  the  style  in  which  he  has  been  accustomed. 

It  is  high  time  that  this  course  of  disgraceful  misrepre- 
sentation on  the  part  of  young  women  should  be  exposed. 
I  once  knew  a  young  man  with  the  most  gentle  and  trust- 
ful nature.  He  had  never  known  care  or  sorrow.  But  an 
adventuress  with  winsome  smile  and  loving  voice  crossed 
his  path  and  allowed  him  to  think  that  she  could  maintain  a 
husband  like  other  women,  and  in  his  blind  adoration  for 
her  he  bade  good-bye  to  his  home  and  its  joys  and  madly 


RILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  227 

^jtfked  out  with  her  into  the  great,  untried  future.  She 
told  him  that  he  should  never  know  the  cruel  sting  of  pov- 
erty, and  other  romantic  trash,  and  look  at  him  to-day.  He 
is  a  broken-hearted  man.  His  wife  does  not  take  him  into 
society;  dc^s  not  keep  him  clothed  as  other  men  are  clothed, 
nnd  grudgijgly  gives  him  the  little  pittance  from  week  to 
week  which  jhe  earns  by  washing. 

Is  it  stran"-;  that  his  pillow  is  wet  with  tears,  and  in  his 
agony  he  cries  jut  upon  the  still  air  of  night,  "Oh,  mother, 
why  did  I  leavj  thy  kindly  protection  and  overshadowing 
love  and  marry  a  total  stranger?" 

Then  the  wom«n  who  has  sworn  to  protect  and  love  and 
cherish  him  kicks  L'm  in  the  pit  of  the  stomach  and  harshly 
tells  him  to  "  dry  up. ' 

I  sometimes  think  tl  at  if  mothers  knew  to  what  sorrow 
and  gross  and  shamelesi  treatment  their  sons  were  to  submit 
all  through  their  lives,  ihey  would  put  them  out  of  their 
misery  with  a  base-ball  ci.ib.  Some  mothers  do  try  this 
but  they  postpone  it  too  long  and  the  sons  get  too  large  and 
rnore  difficult  to  kill  than  wlun  their  skulls  are  young  and 
tender. 

I  have  always  maintained  tha^  1  kind  word  and  a  caress 
will  do  more  for  the  great  yearning  nature  of  the  husband 
than  harshness  and  severity.  The  jrue  wife  may  reprove 
her  husband  when  he  spills  coal  all  o\  jr  the  Brussels  carpet 
and  then  steps  on  it  and  grinds  it  in,  b  .t  how  much  better 
even  that  is  than  to  kick  him  under  thj  bed  and  then  sit 
down  on  him  and  gouge  out  his  eyes  wkh  a  pinking  iron. 

I  know  that  men  are  too  often  misunderstood.  They 
may  be  rough  on  the  exterior  but  they  cai  love  Oh,  so 
earnestly,  so  warmly,  so  truly,  so  deeply,  so  ,ntensely,  so 
yearningly,  so  fondly  and  so  universally! 


228  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

Always  kiss  your  husband  good-bye  when  you  go  down 
town  to  your  work.  It  may  be  the  last  time.  1  once  knew 
a  wife  who  went  down  town  to  price  a  new  dolman,  and 
because  she  was  vexed  about  something  she  did  not  kiss  her 
husband  but  slammed  the  door  and  left  him.  When  she 
returned  he  was  a  corpse! 

**!•  *£*  «I*  il*  sL*  »A»  «1*  ^* 

>■.  ^4  ^  ^  •!%  "^%"T»  T* 

While  peeling  the  potatoes  for  dinner  with  the  carving 
knife,  he  had  stepped  on  a  clothes  pin,  which  threw  him 
forward  over  the  baby  carriage,  the  knife  entering  at  the 
northeast  corner  of  the  gizzard  and  sticking  out  beneath  the 
shoulder  blade  about  two  feet  into  space.  What  a  scene 
for  the  now  repentant  wife.  There,  in  the  full  vigor  of  his 
manhood,  lay  all  that  was  mortal  of*  her  companion — dead 
as  a  mackerel!!! 

Let  us  take  this  home  to  ourselves,  and  ask  ourselves  to- 
day if  we  are  doing  the  square  thing  by  the  only  husband 
we  have.  Are  we  loving  him  as  we  should,  or  are  we 
turning  this  task  over  to  the  hired  girl? 

Intemperance,  too,  is  a  fruitful  cause  of  connubial  unhap- 
piness.  Young  man,  beware  of  a  wife  who  loves  the  flow- 
ing bowl.  I  once  knew  a  beautiful  young  lady,  talented 
and  with  good  business  ability.  The  entire  circle  of  her 
acquaintance  admired  and  respected  her,  but  alas !  one  even- 
ing at  a  banquet  her  companion,  with  a  heavenly  smile, 
asked  her  to  drink  wine.  Gradually  the  taste  grew  upon 
her,  and  although  she  married,  she  could  not  support  her 
husband,  and  he  gradually  pined  away  and  died  broken- 
hearted. He  used  to  sit  up  nights  for  her  to  come  home, 
and  he  caught  the  inflammatory  rheumatism  and  swelled 
up  and  died.  It  was  a  terrible  thing.  I  tell  you  we  cannot 
be  too  careful,     You  take  a  handsome  young  man  like  the 


BII.T.    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  22Q 

author  of  these  lines  and  his  power  for  good  or  evil  is  un. 
told.  I  sometimes  wish  that  I  had  not  been  constructed 
with  so  much  dazzling  beauty  to  the  square  inch,  and  I  am 
almost  tempted  to  go  and  disfigure  myself  some  way.  If  I 
were  to  ask  a  fair  gazelle  on  New  Year's  day  to  come  and 
join  me  in  a  social  glass  and  then  throw  one  of  those  melt- 
ing 2  by  8  glances  of  mine  on  her,  I  know  for  a  moral  cer- 
tainty that  before  night  she  would  be  in  the  calaboose.  But 
I  shall  guard  against  that.  Nothing  of  that  kind  shall  ever 
be  laid  at  my  door.  I  promised  my  aged  parents  when  I 
left  the  old  homestead  that  I  would  never  set  'em  up  for 
anyone. 


SOME    OVERLAND    TOURISTS. 

The  varied  classes  of  tourists  passing  over  the  Union 
Pacific  Railroad,  representing  as  they  do  all  classes  of  hu- 
manity, seem  to  call  for  a  brief  notice  from  the  nimble  pen 
of  a  great  man. 

During  my  short  but  eventful  life  I  have  given  a  large 
portion  of  my  time  to  studying  human  nature.  Studying 
human  nature  and  rustling  for  grub,  as  the  Psalmist  has  it, 
have  occupied  my  time  ever  since  I  arrived  at  man's  estate. 

There  is  one  style  of  tourist  which  I  am  more  particularly 
devoted  to,  perhaps,  than  any  other.  It  is  the  young  man 
who  is  in  search  of  health  for  his  invalid  mustache.  Only 
last  week  I  saw  one  of  these  gentle  youths  who  was  going 
to  try  sea  air  and  California  fruit  to  see  if  he  couldn't  rescue 
his  consumptive  mustache  from  the  jaws  of  death. 

When  he  got  off  here  and   took  the  poor  thing  out  to 


23O  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

where  it  could  look  about  and  see  the  green  plains  and 
snow-capped  mountains,  I  felt  sorry  for  him.  It  is  hard  for 
one  to  be  a  successful  tourist  with  a  pale  invalid  along  with 
him  night  and  day,  and  I  could  imagine  how  that  young 
man  would  have  to  get  up  nights  when  his  mustache  got 
restless  and  needed  fresh  air  or  wanted  to  take  its  tonic. 

It  was  certainly  the  most  gentle,  retiring,  modest  mus- 
tache I  ever  saw.  It  didn't  seem  to  care  for  anything  only 
to  be  loved. 

Every  little  while  the  youth  would  reach  up  to  where  it 
was  and  feel  around  nervously  to  see  if  it  had  climbed  the 
golden  stairs  or  was  still  on  deck. 

It  was  not  a  heavy  mustache  at  all.  It  was  about  as  vo- 
luptuous as  a  buffalo  gnat's  eye-brow. 

I  never  saw  a  mustache  before  that  brought  the  scalding 
tears  to  my  eyes  like  that  one.  I  thought  how  lonely  the 
young  man  would  be  when  it  had  glided  up  the  flume  and 
left  him  in  this  cold,  uncharitable  world  with  nothing  to 
love  and  cliag  to  but  an  earnest  and  unhappy  boil  on  the 
back  of  his  neck  that  wouldn't  come  to  a  focus. 

Sometimes  I  go  down  to  the  train  to  see  some  fair  young 
girl  who  is  on  the  overland  trip.  But  I  am  not  always 
gratified. 

A  short  time  ago  I  went  over,  feeling  as  though  I  would 
like  to  see  a  fair  young  creature  full  of  life  and  joy  and  with 
the  light  of  a  joyous  future  shining  in  her  lustrous  eyes. 

It  didn't  seem  to  be  her  train.  It  was  the  day  that  a 
woman  was  on  board  with  a  Russia  iron  alapaca  dress  and 
white  eyes.  She  was  from  Winnipewankiegingersuappety* 
magoggery,  Maine. 

She  had  a  little  sore-eyed  boy  with  cream-colored  hair 
and  freckles  on  his  face  as  large  as  a  veal  cutlet. 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  23! 

The  boy  would  occasionally  walk  along  the  platform  with 
his  fore  finger  rammed  into  his  mouth  and  hooked  around 
his  wisdom  tooth.  He  would  walk  along  looking  up  into 
the  sky,  and  running  into  everybody  and  falling  over  the 
baggage  truck  till  his  mother  got  quite  irritated,  and  I  told 
the  boy  that  the  future  looked  dark  for  him  unless  he  braced 
up  and  stopped  pulverizing  people's  corns. 

Bye  and  bye  the  boy  ran  into  a  blind  man  and  knocked 
the  wind  out  of  him,  so  that  all  he  could  do  for  ten  minutes 
was  to  stand  there  and  gasp  for  breath  as  though  he  want- 
ed to  breathe  in  the  vast  realms  of  space. 

Then  his  mother  extended  a  long,  bony  hand  with  a  large 
silver  ferule  on  the  biggest  finger,  and  she  laid  hold  of  that 
lemon-colored  kid  of  her's  and  gathered  in  as  much  of  his 
ear  as  her  hand  would  hold.  She  churned  him  up  pretty 
good,  and  it  didn't  seem  to  be  very  much  exertion  for  her 
either.  Every  little  while  he  would  make  an  aerial  flight 
and  back  he  would  come,  his  boots  banging  against  the  car 
with  a  loud  report.  Finally  the  woman  with  the  white 
eye,  from  Winnipewankiegingersuappetymagoggery,  Me., 
consolidated  her  efforts  for  one  grand  flourish,  but  while  in 
mid-air  the  boy's  ear  unscrewed  and  he  lit  out  through  the 
firmament,  falling  in  a  shapeless  mass  on  the  other  side  of 
the  second-class  car,  where  his  gentle  mother  found  him  and 
gathered  him  up  in  her  gingham  apron. 

There  are  lots  of  these  little  queer  and  amusing  circum- 
stances taking  place  here  almost  every  day,  and  I  have  often 
thought  that  if  some  one  with  a  taste  for  the  ridiculous 
would  turn  his  attention  in  that  direction  he  would  make  an 
interesting  sketch  of  them. 

During  the  month  of  June  we  had  a  heavy  snow  storm, 
and  it  pleased  the  average  tourist  very  much  to  be  able  to 


232 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 


snow  ball  in  mid-summer,  so  that  he  could  tell  his  friends 
about  it  when  he  got  home. 

One  intellectual  Hercules,  with  a  head  about  as  large  as  a 
gum  drop  and  a  linen  hat  like  the  dome  of  the  Mormon 
Temple,  thought  it  would  be  a  frisky  little  thing  to  throw 
some  snow  in  the  face  of  a  sensible  man  engaged  in  conver- 
sation on  the  hotel  pavement.  The  sensible  man  mopped 
the  snow  out  of  his  face  and  went  on  with  his  conversation 
till  the  train  was  ready  to  start  and  the  mental  giant  had 
forgotten  all  about  it. 

Then  the  large  man  walked  up  to  the  watery-eyed 
youth  with  a  big  lunch  basket  full  of  snow  and  proceeded 
to  stow  it  away  around  the  features  of  the  youthful  snide 
with  the  skim -milk  optic.  He  used  what  he  could  get  near 
by,  trying  to  fill  his  ears  full,  but  couldn't  get  snow  enough. 
Then  he  took  what  he  had  left  and  worked  it  down  inside 
the  voluptuous  shirt  collar  of  the  bilious  young  man  from 
the  Normal  school. 

I  enjoyed  it  first-rate  because  I  can  not  bear  to  see  a  femi- 
nine tourist  like  this  young  man,  wearing  men's  clothes  and 
trying  to  play  himself  for  a  man.  When  a  man  wants  to 
be  a  merry  laughing  girl  and  can't,  and  he  stands  trembling 
on  the  dividing  line  between  manhood  and  womanhood  and 
hesitating  which  way  to  fall,  I  often  wish  that  I  had  a  foot 
like  Brigham  Young's  tombstone  with  a  swing  to  it  like  a 
pile  driver  and  I  would  like  to  kick  the  young  man  with 
the  old  gold  hat  band  and  the  polka  dotted  necktie  so  far 
into  the  realms  of  space  that  when  he  fell  people  would 
think  he  was  a  red-headed  meteor  looking  for  a  soft  place 
to  fall  jnto. 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 


233 


CATCHING   MOUNTAIN   TROUT   AT  AN  ELEVATION 
OF   8000  FEET. 

A  few  days  ago,  in  company  with  Dr.  Hayford,  I  went 
over  to  Dale  Creek  on  a  brief  extempore  trouting  expedi- 
tion. Dale  Creek  is  a  beautiful  and  romantic  stream  run- 
ning through  a  rugrsred  canon  and  crossed  by  the  beautiful 
iron  bridge  of  the  Union  Pacific  Railroad.  We  went  up 
on  No.  4  and  returned  on  No.  3. 

Dale  Creek  at 
this  season  of  the 
year  is  not  very 
much  of  a  torrent, 
and  on  the  day  we 
went  over  there  all 
the  trout  had  gone 
down  to  the  mouth 
of  the  stream  to 
get  a  drink. 

Every  little 
while  the  Doctor 
would  put  on  his 
glasses  and  hunt 
for  the  creek  while  I  caught  grasshoppers  and  looked  at  the 
scenery.  I  did  not  catch  any  trout  myself,  but  the  Doctor 
drove  one  into  a  prairie-dog  hole  and  killed  him.  I  am 
frantically  fond  of  field  sports  although  I  am  not  always 
successful  in  securing  game.  I  love  to  wander  through  the 
fragrant  grass  and  wild  flowers,  listening  to  the  song  of  the 
bobolink  as  he  sways  to  and  fro  on  some  slender  weed ;  but 
it  delays  me  a  good  deal  to  stop  every  little  while  and  cut 


234  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

my  fly  hooks  out  of  my  clothes.     I  throw  a  fly  very  grace. 

fully,  but  when  it  catches  under  my  shoulder-blades,  and  I 
try  to  lift  myself  up  in  that  manner,  my  companions  laugh 
at  me  and  make  me  mad. 

Dr.  Hay  ford,  who  had  command  of  the  expedition,  told 
me  that  we  would  have  an  hour  and  three  quarters  to  fish 
and  then  we  would  have  to  go  back  and  catch  the  train. 
Therefore  we  hurried  a  good  deal,  and  I  had  to  leave  a  de- 
crepit trout  that  I  had  found  in  a  dead  pine  tree  and  was 
almost  sure  of.  We  gathered  a  bouquet  of  wild  roses  and 
ferns  and  cut  worms  and  went  back  to  the  bridge  to  wait 
for  No.  3.  We  sat  there  for  an  hour  or  two  on  a  voluptu- 
ous triangular  fragment  of  granite,  telling  large  three-ply 
falsehoods  about  catching  fish  and  shooting  elephants  in 
Michigan.  Then  we  waited  two  or  three  more  long  weary 
hours,  and  still  the  train  didn't  come. 

After  a  while  it  occurred  to  me  that  I  had  been  made  the 
victim  of  the  man  who  had  spent  the  most  of  his  life  telling 
the  public  about  the  pleasant  weather  of  Wyoming.  He 
enjoyed  my  misery  and  cheered  me  up  by  saying  that  per- 
haps our  train  had  gone,  and  we  would  have  to  wait  for  the 
emigrant-train.  We  ate  what  lunch  we  had  left,  told  a  few 
more  lies,  and  suffered  on. 

At  last  the  thunder  of  the  train  in  the  distance  was  borne 
down  to  us,  and  we  rose  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  gathered  up 
our  bouquets  and  decomposed  trout,  and  prepared  to  board 
the  car.     But  it  was  a  work  train  and  didn't  stop. 

Then  I  went  away  by  myself  and  tried  to  control  my 
fiendish  temper.  I  thought  of  the  doctor's  interesting  family 
at  home,  and  how  they  would  mourn  if  I  were  to  throw  him 
over  Dale  Creek  bridge,  and  pulverize   him  on   the  rocks 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  235 

below.  So  my  better  nature  conquered  and  I  went  back  to 
wait  a  few  more  weeks. 

The  next  train  that  came  along  was  a  freight  train,  and  it 
made  better  time  going  past  us  than  at  any  other  point  on 
the  road. 

Toward  evening  the  regular  passenger  train  came  along. 
I  found  out  which  coach  the  doctor  was  going  to  ride  in, 
and  I  got  into  another  one.  I  look  my  poor  withered  little 
bouquet  and  looked  at  it.  All  the  flowers  were  dead  and  so 
were  the  bugs  that  were  in  it.  It  was  a  ghostly  ruin  that 
had  cost  me  $9.25.  An  idea  struck  me,  and  I  gave  the 
bouquet  to  the  train  boy  to  sell.  I  told  him  what  the  entire 
array  of  ghastliness  had  cost  me,  and  asked  him  to  get  what 
he  could  out  of  it. 

He  took  the  collection  and  sold  it  out  to  the  passengers, 
realizing,  $21.35.  Passengers  bought  them  and  sent  them 
home  as  flowers  collected  at  Dale  Creek  bridge  in  the  Rocky 
mountains.  Then  a  kind  hearted  gentleman  on  the  train, 
who  saw  how  sad  I  looked,  and  how  ragged  my  clothes 
were,  where  I  had  cut  fish-hooks  out  of  them,  took  up  a  col- 
lection for  me. 

Hereafter  when  a  man  asks  me  to  join  a  fishing  excursion 
to  the  mountains,  I  hope  that  I  shall  have  the  moral  courage 
and  strength  of  character  to  refuse. 


HOME-MADE  INDIAN  BELICS. 

Sherman,  on  the  Union  Pacific  Railroad,  is  the  loftiest 
by  a  considerable  majority  of  any  point  on  the  road.  This 
fact  has  occasioned  some  little  notoriety  for  Sherman,  and 


236  BILL   NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

on  the  strength  of  it  a  small  reservoir  of  Western  curiosities 
has  been  established  there. 

I  went  over  to  the  curiosity  ranche  while  the  train  was 
taking  breath,  to  see  what  I  could  see  and  buy  it  if  the  price 
were  not  too  high. 

There  were  a  great  many  Western  curiosities  from  vari- 
ous parts  of  the  country,  and  I  got  deeply  interested  in  them. 

I  love  to  find  some  old  relic  of  ancient  times  or  some 
antique  weapon  of  warfare  peculiar  to  the  noble  Aztecs.  I 
can  ponder  over  them  by  the  hour  and  enjoy  it  first-rate. 

Among  the  living  wonders  I  noticed  a  bale  of  Indian 
arrows.  These  arrows  are  beautiful  to  look  upon,  and  are 
remarkably  well  preserved.  They  are  as  good  as  new.  I 
asked,  simply  as  a  matter  of  form,  if  they  were  Indian 
arrows.  The  man  said  they  were.  Then  I  asked  who 
made  them,  and  he  got  mad  and  wouldn't  speak  to  me. 

I  do  not  think  I  am  unreasonable  to  want  to  know  who 
makes  my  Indian  arrows,  am  I? 

I  am  willing  to  pay  a  fair  price  for  the  genuine  Connecti- 
cut made  arrow  with  cane  shaft,  and  warranted  cast  steel 
point,  but  the  Indian  arrow  made  at  Omaha  is  not  durable. 

This  curiosity  man  would  make  more  money  and  com- 
mand a  larger  trade  if  he  were  not  so  quick-tempered. 

He  had  also  some  Western  cactus  as  a  curiosity  for  the 
tenderfoot  who  had  never  fooled  with  a  cactus  much. 

It  was  the  clear  thing,  however.  I  sat  down  on  one  to  test 
its  genuineness.  It  stood  the  test  better  than  I  did.  When 
you  have  doubts  about  a  cactus  and  don't  know  whether  it 
is  a  genuine  cactus  or  a  young  watermelon  with  its  hair 
banged,  you  can  test  it  by  sitting  down  on  it.  It  may  sur- 
prise you  at  first,  but  it  tickles  the  cactus  almost  to  death. 

For   a   high-priced    house  plant   and  gentle  meek-eyed 


SILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  237 

exotic  that  don't  care  much  for  affection,  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tain cactus  takes  the  cake. 

It  is  very  easy  to  live,  and  don't  require  much  fondling. 
It  will  enjoy  life  better  if  you  will  get  mad  at  it  about  once 
a  week  and  pull  it  up  b'y  the  roots,  and  kick  it  around  the 
yard.  Water  it  carefully  every  four  years;  if  you  water  it 
oftener  than  that,  it  will  be  surprised,  and  gradually  pine 
away  and  die. 

Another  item  I  must  not  forget  in  giving  directions  for 
the  cultivation  of  this  rare  tropical  plant:  get  some  one  to 
sit  down  on  it  occasionally — if  you  don't  feel  equal  to  it 
yourself.  There's  nothing  that  makes  a  cactus  thrive  and 
flourish  so  much  as  to  have  a  victim  with  linen  pants  on,  sit 
down  on  it  and  then  get  up  impulsively  like.  If  a  cactus 
can  have  these  little  attentions  bestowed  upon  it,  it  will  live 
to  a  good  old  age,  and  insinuate  itself  through  the  panta- 
loons of  generations  yet  unborn.  Plant  in  a  gravelly,  coarse 
soil,  and  kick  it  every  time  you  think  of  it. 

Returning  to  our  subject,  however,  I  think  the  Indian  is 
a  trifle  uncertain  and  at  times  tricky  by  nature.  Of  course 
I  do  not  wish  to  say  anything  that  would  have  a  tendency 
to  injure  the  reputation  of  the  Indian,  for  in  all  candor  I 
will  say  that  he  means  well. 

I  do  not  wish  to  have  what  I  may  say  published  as 
coming  from  me,  because  the  Indian  has  always  used  me 
well,  perhajzis  because  I  never  allow  myself  to  stray  into  his 
jurisdiction,  but  he  has  little,  hateful,  mean  ways  which  I 
despise.  Some  think  that  if  he  were  to  have  more  chance 
to  learn,  more  normal  schools  and  base-ball  clubs  and  up- 
right pianos,  he  would  have  more  ambition  to  do  right  and 
get  ahead,  but  I  almost  doubt  it. 

I  am  very  humane  myself,  but  I  am  more  apt  to  be  harsh 


23S  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

in  my  measures  with  the  Indian  than  most  Eastern  people 
of  culture  are.  Perhaps  this  is  because  I  have  seen  people 
who  had  been  shot  full  of  large  size  bullet  holes  by  the  red 
man.     This  makes  a  difference,  and  I  may  be  prejudiced. 

When  the  average  philanthropist  has  seen  a  family  lying 
scattered  around  promiscuous  and  shot  so  full  of  holes  that 
even  the  coarsest  kind  of  food  is  of  no  use,  he  begins  to  ask 
in  his  mind  whether  a  more  severe  method  of  treatment 
would  not  be  beneficial  to  the  Indian. 

I  want  to  look  this  matter  calmly  in  the  face,  and  ask 
whether  night  shirts  and  civilization  and  suspenders  will 
make  good  citizens  out  of  these  unfettered  children  of  the 
forest  or  not?  Is  it  the  opinion  of  the  gentle  reader  that  a 
nation  of  flea-bitten,  smoke-tanned  beggars  will  come  for- 
ward and  submit  to  the  ennobling  influences  of  Christianity 
and  duck  vests  and  horse-shoe  scarf  pins  and  quarterly 
meetings  and  gauze  underwear?     Methinks  not. 

Nature  constructed  the  noble  red  man  with  certain  little 
mental,  moral  and  physical  eccentricities,  and  these  eccen- 
tricities can  be  better  worn  away  and  remodeled  on  the 
evergreen  shore. 

Poor,  weak,  fallible  man  cannot  successfully  grapple  with 
the  task  of  working  over  an  entire  nation  of  human  beings 
and  changing  the  whole  trend,  so  to  speak,  of  a  nation's 
mental  and  moral  nature. 

Let  us  not,  therefore,  usurp  the  prerogative  or  attempt  to 
perform  the  Herculean  task  which  a  wise  Creator  has  laid 
out  for  Himself. 

The  policy  of  Divine  administration,  if  I  mistake  not,  is 
'.o  improve  the  Indian  and  reform  him  in  a  future  state  in  a 
large  corral  where  the  worm  dieth  not.  This  of  course  is 
only  my  private  opinion,  and  I  am  offering  it  now  in  pack- 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  239 

ages  containing  six  each,  securely  boxed  and  sent  free  to 
any  address  on  receipt  of  $1.  I  would  sell  it  cheaper  were 
it  not  for  the  excessive  freight  and  the  recent  rise  in  white 
paper. 

Supposing  then  the  above  to  be  the  correct  theory,  what 
can  poor  erring  man  do  to  forward  the  good  work?  Evi- 
dently he  can  do  nothing  unless  it  be  to  change  the  state  of 
the  red  man  from  a  discouraging  and  annoying  mortality  to 
a  bright  and  shining  immortality. 

I  would  suggest  that  this  be  done  so  far  as  possible  by 
those  who  can  spare  the  time  and  ammunition  to  do  so.  I 
will  give  to  such  all  the  encouragement  and  moral  support 
I  can.  I  would  assist  in  the  good  work,  but  I  am  most  too 
busy  now  planting  my  raspberry  jam  and  setting  out  my 
early  Swedish  dried  apple  pie  plant. 


THE    PREVIOUS    REPORTER. 

Fluke  MaGilder,  an  old  Washington  reporter,  who 
afterward  was  well  known  among  Western  newspaper 
men,  was  one  of  the  most  tireless  and  persistent  news- 
gatherers  I  ever  knew.  He  used  to  tell  with  considerable 
apparent  pleasure  how  he  didn't  obtain  the  points  on  a 
prominent  military  court  martial  which  was  held  at  Chey- 
enne in  1876.     It  happened  on  this  wise: 

When  it  was  known  for  a  dead  certainty  that  the  court- 
martial  had  closed,  and  that  the  result  was  sealed  up  in  an 
envelope  in  the  possession  of  General  Pope,  who  roomed 
at  the  Inter-Ocean,  Fluke  got  up  an  infernal  lie  to  tell  the 
General,  and  thus  got  him  away  from  his  room.  He  in- 
duced a  little  negro  boy,  by  promising  him  an  old  pair  of 


24O  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

pants,  to  go  up  and  deliver  a  note  to  General  Pope,  saying 
that  General  Merritt  was  out  at  Fort  Russell,  and  that  he 
wanted  to  see  him  immediately.  After  the  General  had 
gone  Fluke  crawled  into  the  transom  of  his  room,  and 
began  to  ransack  things.  It  turned  out,  however,  that  the 
documents  were  safe  in  the  General's  overcoat  pocket,  and 
MaGilder  was  baffled.  He  searched  all  the  drawers  in  the 
room,  looked  under  the  bed,  rummaged  the  pockets  of  all 
the  extra  clothes  in  the  room,  and  the  more  he  searched  the 
madder  he  got,  and  when  at  last  it  dawned  upon  him  that 
he  was  foiled,  his  wrath  knew  no  bounds.  He  filled  his 
pockets  with  the  General's  cigars,  drank  the  General's  wine, 
and  wiped  his  nose  on  the  General's  best  clean  handker- 
chiefs. He  spit  tobacco  juice  in  the  General's  slippers, 
wiped  his  feet  on  the  pillow  shams,  dressed  the  coal-stove 
up  in  the  General's  night  shirt,  and  spread  a  few  spare  hair- 
pins which  he  had  in  his  pockets,  under  the  General's  pillow. 
He  was  pretty  mad.  He  took  the  spittoon  and  stood  it  on 
the  center-table,  with  a  tooth  brush  sticking  in  the  middle, 
and  wound  up  by  trying  on  the  General's  underclothes  and 
tearing  the  ruffles  off.  It  is  so  well  established  that  Fluke 
had  a  great  deal  of  embonpoint,  that  it  is  unnecessary  to  say 
he  had  a  good  deal  of  trouble  to  get  into  General  Pope's 
apparel,  as  the  General  is  a  slim  man.  However,  as  Ma- 
Gilder  stood  in  the  position  of  a  boy  who  is  just  on  the 
point  of  going  in  swimming,  and  had  the  last  garment 
drawn  over  his  head,  so  that  he  could  not  see  very  well, 
General  Pope  slipped  in  with  a  large  snow-shovel,  which 
he  applied  with  great  vigor.  When  they  offered  Fluke  a 
chair  at  a  party  after  that  he  would  murmur,  "No,  thank 
you,  1  prefer  to  stand  up.     I've  been  sitting  down  all  day 


ttILL    NYE    AND    BOCMKKANG.  24 1 

and  wish  a  change."     But  everybody  knew  that  he  hadn't 
sat  down  for  over  a  week. 


THE  PEACE  COMMISSION. 

EVIDENCE    OF  JOHNSON    BEFORE    THE   COURT. 

Los  Pixos,  Coe.,  Nov.  17. 

Chief  Johnson  was  again  called  on  the  stand  this  morning, 
and  administered  the  following  oath  to  himself  in  a  solemn 
and  awe-inspiring  manner: 

"  By  the  Great  Horn  Spoons  of  the  pale-face,  and  the 
Great  Round  Faced  Moon,  round  as  the  shield  of  my 
fathers;  by  the  Great  High  Muck-a-Muck  of  the  Ute  nation; 
by  the  Beard  of  the  Prophet,  and  the  Continental  Congress, 
I  dassent  tell  a  lie ! " 

When  Johnson  had  repeated  this  solemn  oath  —  at  the 
same  time  making  the  grand  hailing  sign  of  the  secret  order 
known  as  the  Thousand  and  One — there  was  not  a  dry  eye 
in  the  house. 

Question  by  General  Adams. — What  is  your  name  and 
occupation,  and  where  do  you  reside? 

Answer — My  name'is  Johnson,  just  plain  Johnson.  The 
rest  has  been  torn  off.  I  am  by  occupation  a  farmer.  I  am 
a  horny-handed  son  of  toil,  and  don't  you  forget  it.  I  reside 
in  Greeley,  Colorado. 

Question — Did  you,  or  did  you  not  hear  of  a  massacre  at 
White  River  agency,  during  the  fall,  and  if  so,  to  what  ex- 
tent? 

Objected  to  by  defendant's  counsel  because  it  is  irrelevant, 
immaterial,  unconstitutional,  imitation,  and  incongruous. 
*16 


242  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

Most  of  the  forenoon  was  spent  in  arguing  the  point 
before  the  court,  when  it  was  allowed  to  go  in,  whereupon 
the  defendant's  counsel  asked  to  have  the  exception  noted 
on  the  court's  moments. 

Answer — I  did  not   hear  of  the  massacre,  until  last  even 
ing,  when  I  happened  to  pick  up  a  copy  of  the  Evanston 
Age  and  read  it.     It  was  a  very  sad  affair,  I  should  think. 

Question — Were  you,  or  were  you  not,  present  at  the 
massacres? 

Objected  to  by  defendant's  counsel  on  the  ground  that 
the  witness  is  not  bound  to  answer  a  question  which  would 
criminate  himself. 

Objection  sustained,  and  question  withdrawn  by  the  prose- 
cution. 

Question — Where  were  you  on  the  night  that  this  massa- 
cre is  said  to  have  occurred? 

Answer — What  massacre? 

Question — The  one  at  White  River? 

Answer — I  was  attending  a  series  of  protracted  meetings 
at  Greeley,  in  this  State. 

Question — Were  Douglass,  Colorow  and  other  Ute  chiefs 
with  you  at  that  meeting  in  Greeley  ? 

Answer — They  were. 

Court  adjourned  for  dinner. 

General  Adams  remarked  to  a  reporter  that  he  was  get- 
ting down  to  business  now,  and  that  he  had  no  doubt  that 
in  a  few  months  he  would  convict  all  these  Utes  of  false- 
hood in  the  first  degree. 

After  dinner,  court  was  called,  with  Johnson  at  the  bat 
and  Douglass  on  deck;  General  Adams,  short  stop;  Ouray, 
center  field. 

Question — You  say  that  you   were   not   present  at  the 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  243 

White  River  massacre;  were  you  ever  engaged  in  any 
massacre  ? 

Objected  to,  but  objection  afterward  withdrawn. 

Answer — No. 

Question — Never  ? 

Answer — Never. 

Question — What!  Never? 

Answer — Well,  dam  seldom. 

(Great  applause  and  cries  of  "  ugh !"  ) 

Question — Did  you,  or  did  you  not,  know  a  man  named 
N.  C.  Meeker? 

Answer — Yes. 

Question — Go  on  and  state  if  you  know  where  you  met 
him  and  at  what  time. 

Answer — I  met  him  in  Greeley,  Colorado,  two  or  three 
years  ago.  After  that  I  heard  that  he  got  an  appointment 
as  Indian  Asrent  somewhere  out  west. 

Question — Did  you  ever  hear  anything  of  him  after  that? 

Answer — Nothing  whatever. 

Question — Did  the  account  of  the  White  River  massacre 
that  you  read  in  the  Age  mention  the  death  of  Mr.  Meeker? 

Answer — No.     Is  he  dead? 

General  Adams — Yes,  he  is  dead. 

At  that  the  witness  gave  a  wild  whoop  of  pain  and 
anguish,  fell  forward  into  the  arms  of  General  Adams,  and 
is  unconscious  as  we  go  to  press. 

We  do  not  wish  to  censure  General  Adams.  No  doubt 
he  is  conducting  this  investigation  to  the  best  of  his  ability; 
but  he  ought  to  break  such  news  as  this  as  gently  to  the 
Indian  as  possible. 


244  BILL   NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 


SOME  ANSWERS  TO  CORRESPONDENTS. 

Lock  Malone,  Beaver,  Utah,  writes  as  follows: 

"  I  am  now  making  some  important  scientific  experiments 
with  Limberger  cheese  as  a  motor,  but  have  no  data  where- 
by to  work.  So  new  and  unusual  is  the  motor  to  science, 
that  I  am  unable  to  get  anything  relative  to  its  history. 

"  i.  When  was  Limberger  cheese  first  discovered,  and 
by  whom  ? 

"  2.     What  did  he  do  it  for  anyway  ? 

"  3.  To  what  do  you  attribute  the  bad  odor  in  which 
Limberger  cheese  is  held  by  scientists? 

"  4.  Looking  from  what  may  be  termed  a  purely  utili- 
tarian standpoint,  and  not  allowing  ourselves  to  be  in- 
fluenced by  incongruous  incandescence,  should  you  say  in 
all  respects  that  virtually  in  view  of  the  heterogeneous  mo- 
bility of  attended  animalculate  it  might  had  or  couldn't 
possibly  was?" 

ANSWER. 

i.  Limberger  cheese  was  first  discovered  by  Galileo, 
floating  through  space,  during  his  studies  relative  to  the 
heavenly  bodies. 

This  was  about  1609. 

The  body  had,  however,  been  floating  through  space  for 
many  millions  of  years  previous  to  that,  as  Galileo  remarks 
in  his  diary  that  he  wasn't  proud  of  it  at  all  for  it  was  evi- 
dently in  a  very  poor  state  of  preservation. 

Galileo  caught  some  of  it  and  tamed  it,  but  the  scientific 
minds  of  that  age  had  not  yet  made  the  attempt  to  utilize  it 
as  a  motor. 

it     The  discovery  was  purely  accidental*     At  about  the 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  ^45 

time  referred  to,  Galileo  had  constructed  his  powerful  tele- 
scope which  would  bring  the  moon  down  so  that  the  valleys 
and  hills  of  that  body  were  plainly  visible.  One  day  the 
telescope  brought  down  a  fragment  of  Limberger  cheese 
that  was  floating  through  space.  It  magnified  the  cheese 
to  such  an  extent  that  Galileo  could  smell  it  distinctly. 

This  was  the  true  cause  of  Galileo's  abandonment  of  the 
Copemican  theory  and  eventually  of  astronomy. 

3.  The  last  answer  really  disposes  of  your  third  question. 

4.  Grappling  with  the  abstruse  and  alarmingly  previous 
usufruct  embodied  in  the  omnipresent,  and  constantly  em- 
anating and  noticeably  refractory  diagnosis,  herein  set  forth, 
and  still  wandering  on  through  the  ever  changing  yet  con- 
stantly invariable  and  fluctuating,  yet  undeviating  perihelion 
of  the  heavenly  bodies,  with  unprejudiced  mind  and  unbiased 
judgment. 

Arriving  at  the  conclusion  that  perhaps  in  some  cases  it 
might  not,  or  yet  again  it  might  or  might  not,  and  still  it 
might. 

Numerous  Husband,  writes  from  Jehosephat  Valley  as 

follows : 

"  I  am  twenty-seven  and  am  going  on  twenty-eight  years 
of  age.  A  few  vears  ago  I  joined  on  to  the  Mormon  Church, 
and  with  my  usual  enthusiasm  begun  to  get  married. 

"  I  have  been  getting  married  with  more  or  less  reck- 
lessness ever  cents. 

When  times  was  dull  and  I  was  out  of  employment,  1 
would  go  and  get  married. 

"  The  ofishal  count  shows  that  I  am  an  easy  and  graceful 
marryer. 

"  I  now  find  that  I  am  hopelessly  involved  financially.  I 
had    intended   tfaUi  summer  to  bnild   £f  rollosle  villa  for  mjf 


a/j.6  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

multitoodinous  wife;  but  it  will  cost  me  more  than  I  can 
now  command. 

"  Besides  that  the  surkass  is  now  on  the  weigh,  and  I  am 
called  upon  to  secure  voluptuous  woven  wire  mattress  stuffed 
opera  reserved  seats,  for  my  household  aggregation  of  living 
wonders. 

"I  am  willing  to  take  all  I  can  pay  for  if  she  will  sit  on  a 
hard  blue  seat  with  me,  and  let  her  feet  dangle  down;  but  I 
cannot  abide  by  the  excessive  tariff  for  preserved  seats. 

I  love  the  high  moral  tone  of  the  sho,  and  dearly  love  the 
grand  display  of  arenick  tallent,but  I  cannot  croll  under  the 
canvuss  with  my  domestic  carryvan,  without  attracting 
attention. 

When  I  was  a  boy  and  had  not  yet  entered  with  my  wild 
impetuous  nacher  in  2  the  mattrymoniall  biziness,  I  used  to 
carry  water  to  the  elephant,  and  thus  see  the  World's  Con- 
gress of  Rair  and  Beautyful  Zoologickal  Wonders,  but  I 
cood  not  do  that  now. 

"  By  the  time  I  got  the  Jordan  carried  up  to  the  elephant, 
to  pay  my  admittance,  the  sho  would  be  over  and  gone,  and 
I  would  be  more  or  less  left. 

"  I  thereupon  ask  in  all  kandor  for  your  valyable  advise  on 
these  points  ? " 

ANSWER. 

The  case  before  us  is  one  which  would  evoke  sympathy 
from  the  stoniest  heart.  It  is  also  one  which  requires  a  close 
scrutiny  and  cool,  deliberate  investigation. 

You  probably  at  first  married  a  wife  whom  you  consid- 
ered a  treasure,  and  at  once  set  yourself  about  amassing 
wealth  of  this  kind  until  you  find  that  you  are  carrying  over 
on  your  inventory  year  after  year,  a  large  stock  of  undesir- 
able wives  which  you  are  unable  to  dispose  of* 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  247 

You  probably  thought  when  you  first  married,  that  there 
were  only  two  or  three  unmarried  young  ladies  in  the  broad 
and  beautiful  universe  who  were  worthy  of  you. 

This  was  a  fatal  error,  and  one  very  common  to  the  bran 
new  bridegroom. 

The  census  will  show  that  there  are  several,  if  not  more, 
desirable  young  ladies  who  are  still  on  deck. 

I  am  sorry  that  you  have  placed  yourself  in  the  position 
you  have,  and  so  far  as  possible  will  assist  you;  but  these 
suggestions  which  I  might  offer,  could  only  be  partially  suc- 
cessful. 

Could  you  earlier  in  the  season  have  given  your  wives 
say  a  dozen  able-bodied  hens  apiece,  with  instructions  that 
they  were  to  be  stimulated  to  the  utmost  by  their  respective 
owners,  the  egg-crop  might  have  assisted  very  materially  in 
purchasing  circus  tickets  with  the  consequent  concert  tickets 
and  vermilion  lemonade. 

There  are  other  suggestions  that  might  be  made  but  it  is 
too  late  now  to  make  them.  I  can  only  offer  one  more 
balm  to  your  deeply  wounded  and  disappointed  heart.  You 
might  by  economy  and  frugality,  secure  an  available  point 
on  the  route  with  your  mass  meeting  of  household  gods  and 
goddesses,  where  you  could  sit  on  the  fence  and  see  the  ele- 
phant meander  by. 

Yours,  enveloped  in  a  large  wad  of  dense  gloom. 


THE   CROW   INDIAN  AND   HIS   CAWS. 

Early  in  the  week  five   Crow  chiefs  passed  through 
here  on  their  way  to  Washington. 

I  went  down  to  see  them-     They  were  as  fine  looking 


248  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

children  of  the  forest  as  I  ever  saw.  They  wore  buck- 
skin pants  with  overskirt  of  same.  The  hair  was  worn 
Princesse,  held  in  place  with  Frazer's  axle  grease  and  large 
mother  of  clamshell  brooch.  Down  the  back  it  was  braided 
like  a  horse's  tail  on  a  muddy  day,  only  the  hair  was  coarser. 

When  an  Indian  wants  to  crimp  his  hair  he  has  to  run  it 
through  a  rolling  mill  first,  to  make  it  malleable.  Then 
the  blacksmith  of  the  tribe  rolls  it  up  over  the  ordinary 
freight  car  coupling  pin,  and  on  the  following  morning  it 
hangs  in  graceful  Saratoga  waves  down  the  back  of  the 
untutored  savage. 

I  said  to  the  interpreter  who  seemed  to  act  as  their  trainer, 
« No  doubt  these  Crows  are  going  to  Washington  to  try 
and  interest  Hayes  in  their  Caws." 

He  gave  a  low,  gurgling  laugh. 

44  No,"  said  he  with  a  merry  twinkle  of  the  eye,  as  he  laid 
his  lip  half  way  across  a  plug  of  government  tobacco,  "  as 
spring  approaches  they  have  decided  to  go  to  Washington 
and  ransack  the  Indian  Bureau  for  their  gauzy  Schurz. 

I  caught  hold  of  a  car  seat  and  rippled  till  the  coach  was 
filled  with  my  merry,  girlish  laughter. 

These  Indians  wear  high  expressive  cheek-bones,  and 
most  of  them  have  strabismus  in  their  feet.  They  had  their 
paint  on.  It  makes  them  look  like  a  chromo  of  Powhattan 
mashing  the  eternal  soul  out  of  John  Smith  with  a  Bologna 
sausage. 

One  of  these  chiefs,  named  Raw-Dog-with-a-Bunion-on- 
the-Heel,  I  think,  chief  of  the  Wall-eyed  Skunk  Eaters, 
looked  so  guileless  and  kind  that  I  approached  him  and  said 
that  no  doubt  the  war-path  in  the  land  of  the  setting  sun 
was  overgrown  with  grass,  and  in  his  mountain  home  very 
)lkelv  the  beams  of  peace!  lit  up  the  feces  8?  his  tribe. 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  249 

He  did  not  seem  to  catch  my  meaning. 

I  asked  him  if  his  delegation  was  going  to  Washington 
uninstructed. 

In  reply  he  made  a  short  remark  something  like  that 
which  the  shortstop  of  a  match  game  makes  when  a  hot 
ball  takes  him  unexpectedly  between  the  gastric  and  the 
liver  pad. 

Somehow  live  Indians  do  not  look  so  picturesque  as  the 
steel  engraving  does.  The  smell  is  not  the  same,  either. 
Steel  engravings  of  Indians  do  not  show  the  decalcomania 
outline  of  a  frying-pan  on  the  buckskin  pants  where  the 
noble  red  man  made  a  misstep  one  morning  and  sat  down 
on  his  breakfast. 

A  dead  Indian  is  a  pleasing  picture.  The  look  of  pain 
and  anxiety  is  gone,  and  rest,  sweet  rest — more  than  he 
really  needs — has  come  at  last.  His  hands  are  folded  peace- 
fully and  his  mouth  is  open,  like  the  end  of  a  sawmill.  His 
trials  are  o'er.  His  swift  foot  is  making  pigeon-toed  tracks 
in  the  shifting  sands  of  eternity. 

The  picture  of  a  wild  free  Indian  chasing  the  buffalo  may 
suit  some,  but  I  like  still  life  in  art.  I  like  the  picture  of  a 
broad-shouldered,  well-formed  brave  as  he  lies  with  his 
nerveless  hand  across  a  large  hole  in  the  pit  of  his  stomach. 

There  is  something  so  sweetly  sad  about  it.  There  is 
such  a  nameless  feeling  of  repose  and  security  on  the  part 
of  the  spectator. 

Some  have  such  sensitive  natures  that  they  cannot  look 
at  the  remains  of  an  Indian  who  has  been  run  over  by  two 
sections  of  freight,  but  I  can.  Somehow  I  do  not  feel  that 
nervous  distrust  when  I  look  at  the  red  man  with  his 
oesophagus  Wrapped  around  his  head  and  tied  in  a  double 
how  knot,  that  T  do  when  he  i*  full,  of  the  vigor  of  health* 


250  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

When  a  train  of  cars  has  jammed  his  thigh-bone  through  his 
diaphragm  and  flattened  his  head  out  like  a  soup  plate,  I 
feel  then  that  I  can  trust  him.  I  feel  that  he  may  be  relied 
upon.  I  consider  him  in  the  character  of  ghastly  remains 
as  a  success.  He  seems  at  last  so  in  earnest  and  as  though 
he  could  be  trusted. 

When  the  Indian  has  been  mixed  up  so  that  the  closest 
scrutiny  cannot  determine  where  the  head  adjourns  and  the 
thorax  begins,  the  scene  is  so  suggestive  of  unruffled  quiet 
and  calm  and  gentle  childlike  faith  that  doubt  and  distrust 
and  timidity  and  apprehension  flee  away. 


THE  NUPTIALS  OF  DANGEROUS  DAVIS. 

On  the  morning  on  which  Adam  Forepaugh  entered  the 
city  of  Laramie,  and  with  a  grand  array  of  hump-backed 
dromedaries,  club-footed  elephants,  and  an  uncalled-for 
amount  of  pride,  and  pomp,  and  circumstance,  captured  the 
town,  Dangerous  Davis,  clad  in  buckskin  and  glass  beads, 
and  ornamented  with  one  of  Smith  &  Wesson's  brass- 
mounted,  self-cocking,  Black  Hills  bustles,  entered  his 
honor's  office,  and  walking  up  to  the  counter  where  the 
•Judge  deals  out  justice  to  the  vagabond  tenderfoot,  and  bank- 
rupt non  resident,  as  well  as  to  the  law-defying  Laramite, 
called  for  $5.00  worth  of  matrimony. 

On  his  arm  leaned  the  fair  form  of  the  one  who  had 
ensnared  the  heart  of  the  frontiersman,  and  who  had 
evidently  gobbled  up  the  manly  affections  of  Dangerous 
Davis.  She  was  resplendent  in  new  clothes,  and  a  pair  of 
Indian  moccasins,  and  when  she  glided  up  to  the  centre  of 
the  room,  the  casual  observer  might  have  been  deceived 


BILL   NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  251 

into  the  belief  that  she  was  moving  through  the  radiant 
atmosphere  like  an  $11.00  Peri,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the 
gentle  patter  of  her  moccasin  as  it  fell  upon  the  floor  with 
the  sylph-like  footfall  of  the  prize  elephant  as  he  moves 
around  the  ring  to  the  dreamy  strains  of  "  Old  Zip  Coon/1 
A  large  "  filled  "  ring  gleamed  and  sparkled  on  her  brown 
hand,  and  vied  in  splendor  with  a  large  seed-wart  on  her 
front  finger.  The  ends  of  her  nails  were  draped  in  the 
deepest  mourning,  and  as  she  leaned  her  head  against  the 
off  shoulder  of  Dangerous  Davis,  the  ranche  butter  from  her 
tawny  locks  made  a  deep  and  lasting  impression  on  his 
buckskin  bosom. 

At  this  auspicious  moment  His  Honor  entered  the  room, 
with  a  green  covered  German  almanac  for  1S52  and  a  copy 
of  Robinson  Crusoe  under  his  arm,  and  as  he  saw  the 
vouno-  thills  who  was  about  to  unite  herself  to  the  bold, 
bad  man  from  Bitter  Creek,  he  burst  into  tears,  while  Judge 
Blair,  who  had  adjourned  the  District  Court  in  order  to  wit- 
ness the  ceremonv,  sat  down  behind  the  stove  and  sobbed 
like  a  child.  At  this  moment  William  Crout,  who  has  been 
married  under  all  kinds  of  circumstances  and  in  eleven  dif- 
ferent languages,  entered  the  room  and  inspired  confidence 
in  the  weeping  throng. 

Dangerous  Davis  changed  his  quid  of  tobacco  from  one 
side  of  his  amber  mouth  to  the  other,  spat  on  his  hands,  and 
asked  to  see  the  Judge's  matrimonial  price  list.  The  Judge 
showed  him  some  different  styles,  out  of  which  Dangerous 
Davis  selected  the  kind  he  wanted. 

By  this  time  about  one  hundred  and  thirteen  men,  who 
had  been  waiting  around  the  court  room  during  the  past 
week  in  order  to  be  drawn  as  jurymen,  had  crowded  in  to 
witness  the  ceremony. 


252  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

After  all  the  preliminaries  had  been  gone  through  with, 
tne  Judge  commenced  reading  the  marriage  service  out  of  a 
copy  of  the  Clown's  Comic  Song  Book.  When  he  asked 
if  anyone  present  had  any  objections  to  the  proceedings, 
Price,  from  force  of  habit,  rose  and  said,  "I  object;"  but 
Dangerous  Davis  caressed  his  brass-mounted  Grecian  bend, 
and  Price  withdrew  the  objection.  Everybody  admitted 
Price's  good  judgment,  under  the  circumstances,  in  with- 
drawing the  objection. 

After  the  usual  ceremony,  the  Judge  put  the  bridegroom 
through  some  little  initiations,  instructed  him  in  the  grand 
hailing  signs,  grips,  passwords  and  signals,  swore  him  to 
support  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States,  pronounced 
the  benediction  on  the  newly-wedded  pair,  and  the  cere- 
mony closed  with  an  extemporaneous  speech  by  Judge 
Brown  and  profound  silence  and  thoughtfulness  on  the  part 
of  Brock  way,  as  he  reflected  upon  the  dangers  which  con- 
stantly surround  us. 

Dangerous  Davis  mounted  his  broncho,  and  tying  his  new 
wife  on  behind  him  on  the  saddle  with  an  old  shawl  strap, 
plunged  his  spurs  into  the  panting  sides  of  his  calico  colored 
steed,  and  in  a  few  moments  was  flying  ovec  the  green 
plains,  while  the  mountain  breeze  caught  up  the  oleaginous 
saffron-hued  tresses  of  the  bride  and  in  wild  glee  mingled 
them  with  the  broncho's  sorrel  tail,  and  tossed  them  to  ths 
four  winds  of  heaven. 


THE  HOLIDAY  HOG. 

Dear  reader,  did  you  ever  go  along  past  the  marked 
these  cold  December  mornings  and  study  the  expresssion  of 


kILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  2$$ 

the  frozen  holiday  hog  as  he  stands  at  the  door  with  his  mouth 
propped  open  by  a  chip,  and  the  last  hardened  outlines  of  a 
diabolical  smile  lingering  about  the  whole  face  ?     Did  it  ever 
occur  to  you  that  he  has  ways  like  Charles  Francis  Adams? 
And  yet  he  was  not  always  thus — a  cold,  hard,  immov- 
able pork  statue.    Once  he  was  the  pride  of  some  Nebraska 
home.     He  was  petted  and  caressed  no  doubt,  and  had  more 
demoralized  melon  rinds,  and  cold  potatoes,  and  dish  water 
than  he    actually   needed.     But  think   of  it,  gentle,  kind- 
hearted  reader;  he  has  been  torn  from  those  he  loved,  and 
butchered  to  make  a  Caucasian  holiday;    snatched  from  the 
home   of  his  youth,  and  frozen  into  a  double  and  twisted 
post  mortem  examination.     Perhaps,  dear  reader,  you  have 
never  had  to  stand  as  a  model  for  the  picture  of  the  man  in 
the  front  of  the  almanac,  who  looks  like  the  victim  of  a 
buzz  saw,  with  the  various  members  of  the  Zodiac  family 
floating  around  him.     If  you  have  not,  and  we  will  take 
your  word  for  it,  you  cannot  fully  realize  the  feelings  of  the 
Nebraska   hog    on    a   December   day,  without  a  stitch  of 
clothes  to  his  back. 


SOME  CENSUS  CONUNDRUMS. 

It  was  in  the  prime  of  summer  time, 
An  evening  calm  and  cool — 

When  the  census  enumerator  came  to  the  sanctity  of  my 
home,  and  opened  a  valise  which  contained  a  large  duo- 
decimo volume,  and  about  nine  gallons  of  brand  new  interro- 
gation points. 

He  opened  his  note  book,  which  was  about  the  size  of  the 
White  River  Reservation,  and  proceeded  to  get  acquainted. 

I  thought  at  first  that  he  had  come  from  Chicago  to  inter- 


254  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

view  me  about  the  Presidential  convention,  and  get  my 
views.     This  was  not  the  case,  however. 

I  think  he  is  going  to  write  my  biography  and  sell  it  at 
$2.00  each. 

I  gave  him  all  the  information  I  could,  and  telegraphed  to 
my  old  Sabbath  School  Superintendent  at  home  for  more. 

Among  other  little  evidences  of  his  morbid  curiosity,  I 
will  give  the  following : 

When  were  you  born,  and  looking  calmly  back  at  this 
important  epoch  in  your  life,  do  you  regret  that  you  took 
the  step? 

If  yes,  state  to  what  extent  and  under  what  circumstances? 

Do  you  remember  George  Washington,  and  if  so  to  what 
amount? 

What  is  your  fighting  weight? 

Who  struck  Billy  Patterson? 

Did  you  ever  have  membranous  croup,  and  what  did  you 
do  for  it? 

Do  you  keep  hens,  or  do  you  lavish  your  profanity  on 
those  of  your  neighbors? 

Have  any  of  your  ancestors  ever  been  troubled  with  in- 
growing nails,  or  blind  staggers? 

What  is  your  opinion  of  rats? 

Are  you  a  victim  to  rum  or  other  alchoholic  stimulants, 
and  if  so,  at  what  hour  do  you  usually  succumb  to  the  potent 
enemy  ? 

Would  you  have  any  scruples  in  asking  the  enumerator 
to  join  you  in  wrestling  with  man's  destroyer  at  that  hour? 

Do  you  eat  onions? 

Which  side  do  you  lie  on  while  sleeping? 

Which  side  do  you  lie  on  during  a  political  campaign? 

What  is  the  chief  end  of  man  ? 


BILL    XYF    ANI?    BOOMERANG.  255 

Are  you  single,  and  if  so  what  is  your  excuse? 
Who  will  care  for  mother  now? 


THE  GENTLE  POWER  OF  A  WOMAN'S  INFLUENCE. 

Cummins  City  is  still  a  crude  metropolis. 

Society  has  not  yet  arrived  at  the  white  vest  and  lawn 
sociable  period  there.  There  is  nothing  to  hamper  any  one 
or  throw  a  tiresome  restraint  around  him.  You  walk  up 
and  down  the  streets  of  the  camp  without  feeling  that  the 
vigilant  eye  of  the  policeman  is  upon  you,  and  when  you 
register  at  the  leading  hotel  the  proprietor  don't  ask  how 
much  baggage  you  have,  or  insist  upon  it  that  your  valise 
ought  to  be  blown  up  with  a  quill  to  give  it  a  robust  ap- 
pearance. 

Speaking  of  this  hotel,  however,  brings  to  my  mind  ?  little 
incident  which  really  belongs  in  here.  There  are  two  ladies 
at  this  place,  the  only  ones  in  the  city  limits,  if  my  memory 
serves  me.  One  of  these  ladies  owns  a  lot  of  poles  or  house 
logs  which  were,  at  the  time  of  which  I  speak,  on  the 
dump,  as  it  were,  ready  to  be  used  in  the  construction  of  a 
new  cabin. 

It  seems  that  some  of  the  prospectors  of  the  corporation, 
without  the  fear  of  God  or  the  Common  Council  of  Cum- 
mins City,  had  been  appropriating  these  logs  from  time  to 
time  until  out  of  a  good,  fair  assortment  there  remained 
only  a  dejected  little  pile  of  "  culls."  The  owner  had 
Watched  with  great  annoyance  the  gradual  disappearance  of 
her  property  from  day  to  day,  and  it  made  her  lose  faith  in 
the  final  redemption  of  all  mankind.  She  became  cynical 
and  misanthropical,  lost  her  interest  in  the  future,  and 
became  low  spirited  and  unhappy. 


2$6  felLL    NYE    AND    feOOMERANG. 

One  day,  however,  after  this  thing  had  proceeded  about 
far  enough  she  went  to  her  trunk,  and  taking  out  the  large 
size  of  navy  revolver,  the  kind  that  plows  up  the  vitals  so 
successfully  and  sends  so  many  Western  men  to  their  long 
home.  Then  she  went  out  to  where  a  group  of  men  had 
scattered  themselves  out  around  camp  to  smoke. 

She  wasn't  a  large  woman  at  all,  but  these  men  respected 
her.  Though  they  were  only  rough  miners  there  in  the 
wilderness  they  recognized  that  she  was  a  woman,  and  they 
recognized  it  almost  at  a  glance,  too.  There  she  was  alone 
among  a  wHd  group  of  men  in  the  mountains,  far  from  the 
protecting  arm  of  the  law  and  the  softening  influences  of  me- 
tropolitan life,  and  yet  the  common  feeling  of  gallantry  im- 
planted in  the  masculine  breast  was  there. 

She  indicated  with  a  motion  of  her  revolver  that  she  de- 
sired to  call  the  meeting  to  order.  There  seemed  to  be  a 
general  anxiety  on  the  part  of  every  man  present  to  come 
to  order  just  as  soon  as  circumstances  would  permit.  Then 
she  made  a  short  speech  relative  to  the  matter  of  house  logs, 
and  suggested  that  unless  a  certain  number  of  those  articles, 
now  invisible  to  the  naked  eye,  were  placed  at  a  certain 
point,  or  a  certain  amount  of  kopecks  placed  on  file  with  the 
chairman  of  the  meeting  within  a  specified  time,  that  perdi- 
tion wrould  be  popping  on  Main  Street  in  about  two  and  one- 
half  ticks  of  the  chronometer. 

There  didn't  seem  to  be  any  desire  on  the  part  of  the 
meeting  to  amend  the  motion  or  lay  it  on  the  table.  Al- 
though it  was  arbitrary  and  imperative,  and  although  an 
opportunity  was  given  for  a  free  expression  of  opinion, 
there  didn't  seem  to  be  any  desire  to  take  advantage  of  it. 

A  committee  of  three  was  appointed  to  carry  out  the 
suggestions  of  the  chair,  and  in  about  half  an  hour,  the 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  2$>] 

house  logs  and  kopecks  having  hcen  placed  on  deposit  al 
the  places  designated,  the  meeting  broke  up,  subject  to  thd 
call  of  the  chairman. 

It  was  not  a  very  long  session,  but  it  was  very  harmo- 
nious— very  harmonious  and  very  orderly.  There  was  no 
calling  for  the  previous  question  or  rising  to  a  point  of  or- 
der. The  pale-faced  men  who  composed  the  convention 
did  not  look  to  the  casual  observers  as  though  they  had 
come  there  to  raise  points  for  debate  over  parliamentary 
practice.  They  kept  their  eye  on  the  speaker's  desk  and 
didn't  interrupt  each  other  or  struggle  to  see  who  would 
get  the  floor. 

It  is  wonderful  this  inherent  strength  of  weakness,  as  I 
might  say,  which  enables  a  woman  amid  a  throng  of  reck- 
less men  to  command  their  respect  and  obedience  some- 
times where  main  strength  and  akwardness  would  not  avail. 


THE  NATIVE  INBORN  SHIFTLESSNESS  OF  THE 
PRAIRIE  DOGS. 

I  had  read  in  my  Fourth  Reader  about  prairie  dogs,  and 
I  thought,  according  to  Washington  Irving,  that  they  knew 
more  than  a  Congressman.  He  says  a  great  deal  about  the 
sagacity  and  general  mental  acumen  of  the  prairie  dog,  but 
I  don't  just  exactly  somehow  seem  to  see  where  it  comes  in. 

If  it  be  an  indication  of  shrewdness  and  forethought  to 
establish  a  village  nine  hundred  miles  from  a  railroad,  wood, 
water  and  grub,  and  live  on  alkali  and  moss  agates  and  wan- 
der down  the  vista  of  time  without  a  square  meal,  then  the 
prairie  dog  is  beyond  the  barest  passibility  of  doubt,  keen 
and  shrewd  to  a  wonderful  degree.     But  if  instinct  or  ani- 


2C8  BILL   NYE    AND   BOOMERANG. 

mal  sagacity  be  reckoned  according  to  the  number  and 
amount  of  creature  comforts  afforded  within  a  given  space, 
I  have  a  cow  in  my  mind  that  will  double  discount  all  the 
chuckle-headed,  cactus  eating  prairie  dogs  west  of  the  Mis- 
souri. 

I  do  not  wish  to  say  anything  relative  to  Mr.  Irving's 
opinion  of  the  prairie  dog  which  would  not  be  perfectly  re- 
spectful, for  I  learn  with  great  sorrow  that  Mr.  Irving  is 
dead,  but  I  do  think  that  there  is  hardly  an  animal  in  the 
entire  arcana  of  nature  that  will  not  beat  the  prairie  dog 
two  to  one  as  a  provider  for  his  family  or  himself. 

I  have  an  old  hen  at  my  home  here  who  certainly  ap- 
proximates very  closely  to  my  ideal  of  an  irreclaimable  fool 
that  has  grown  childish  with  old  age,  and  outside  of  the 
Democratic  party  perhaps  she  is  entitled  to  distinction.  But 
even  she  has  lucid  intervals,  and  she  hasn't  yet  fallen  to 
where  she  would  willingly  take  up  a  home  under  the  desert 
land  act  like  a  prairie  dog. 


ANSWERS  TO  CORRESPONDENTS. 

The  following  answers  to  correspondents  contain  a  great 
deal  of  useful  information,  and  I  publish  them  in  order  to 
avoid  the  constant  annoyance  of  writing  the  same  in  sub- 
stance to  so  many  inquiring  friends. 

"  Sweet  Sixteen  "  writes  from  "  Hold-up  Hollow ;" 

"I  am  betrothed  to  a  noble  youth  from  Rice  Lake, 
Minnesota,  but  he  seems  too  have  soured  on  his  betroth. 

"  At  first  he  seemed  to  love  me  according  to  Gunter,  but 
he  has  grown  cold.  About  the  first  of  the  round-up  he 
went  away,  and  I  soon  afterward  heard  that  he  was  affi- 
anced to  another. 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  2 59 

"I  understand  that  he  says  I  am  not  of  noble  lineage 
enough  for  him.  It  is  true.  I  may  not  be  a  thorough-bred, 
but  I  have  a  pure,  loving  nature,  which  is  now  running  to 
waste.  The  name  of  my  beloved  is  De  Courtney  Van 
D'Edbeete.  He  comes  from  the  first  families,  and  O,  I  love 
him  so! 

"  Can  you  tell  me  what  to  do? 

"  Sweet  Sixteen.* 

Answer. — Yes,  I  can  tell  you  what  to  do.  I  have  been 
there  some,  too.  If  you  will  only  do  as  I  tell  you,  you  are 
safe. 

You  must  win  him  back.     I  think  you  can  easily  do  so. 

Select  a  base-ball  club  of  about  the  weight  you  can  handle 
easily,  and  then  go  to  him  and  win  him  back. 

You  are  too  prone  to  give  up  easily.  Do  not  be  discour- 
aged.    All  will  yet  be  well. 

He  may  think  now  that  you  are  not  of  noble  blood  but 
you  can  make  him  change  his  mind.  Go  to  him  with  the 
love  light  in  your  eye  and  put  a  triangular  head  on  him 
with  your  base-ball  club,  and  tell  him  that  he  does  not 
understand  the  cravings  of  your  nature.  Drive  him  into  the 
ground  and  sit  down  on  him,  and  then  tell  him  that  you  are 
nothing  but  a  poor,  friendless  girl,  and  need  some  one  to  cling 
to.  Then  you  can  cling  to  him.  All  depends  upon  how 
successful  you  are  as  a  dinger. 

I  see  at  a  glance  that  De  Courtney  needs  to  be  flattened 
out  a  few  times.  Do  not  kill  him,  but  bring  him  so  near  to 
the  New  Jerusalem  that  he  can  see  the  dome  of  the  court 
house,  and  he  will  gradually  come  back  to  you  and  love 
you,  and  your  life  will  be  one  long  golden  dream  of  never- 
fading  joy,  and  De  Courtney  will  wring  out  the  colored 
clothes  for  you  and  help  you  do  the  washing,  and  he  will 


260  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

stay  at  home  evenings  and  take  care  of  the  children  while 
you  go  to  prayer  meeting,  and  he  will  not  murmur  when 
you  work  off  an  inexpensive  meal  of  cold  rice  and  fricasseed 
codfish  on  him. 

If  he  gets  to  feeling  independent,  and  puts  on  the  old  air 
of  defiance,  you  can  diet  him  on  cold  mush  and  mackerel  till 
he  will  not  feel  so  robust,  and  then  you  can  reason  with  him 
again,  and  while  he  is  recovering  you  can  take  your  base- 
ball club  and  your  noble  self-sacrificing  love,  and  win  him 
back  some  more. 

"  Lalla  Rookh "  writes  from  Waukegan,  Illinois,  as  fol- 
lowss  to  wit: 

"  My  classmates  and  I  have  had  quite  a  serious  discussion 
recently,  on  several  questions  of  table  etiquette,  and  we  have 
finally  agreed  to  leave  the  matter  with  you. 

"  First — If  one  is  asked  to  say  grace  at  the  table,  and  does 
not  wish  to  do  so,  or  is  not  familiar  with  the  forms,  what 
should  he  do? 

"  Second— If  one  has  anything  in  his  mouth,  or  gets  any 
foreign  substance  like  apiece  of  bone  or  a  seed  in  his  mouth, 
how  should  he  remove  it,  and  what  is  the  proper  thing  to  do 
with  it? 

"Third — Would. you  kindly  add  a  few  general  rules  of 
table  etiquette,  which  would  be  useful  to  the  many  admirers 
of  your  classic  style?" 

Answer — It  would  be  hazardous  for  a  gentleman  unaccus- 
tomed to  asking  grace  at  the  table  to  attempt  it,  unless  he 
be  a  naturally  fluent  extemporeaneous  speaker. 

It  is  more  difficult  for  one  unacquainted  with  it,  than  to 
address  a  Sabbath  school,  or  write  a  letter  accepting  the 
nomination  for  President. 

It  is,  therefore,  preferable  to  say  in  a  few  terse  remarks 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  261 

that  you  are  profoundly  grateful  for  the  high  compliment, 
but  that  your  health  will  not  admit  of  its  acceptance. 

Second — Care  should  be  used  while  at  table  not  to  get 
large  foreign  substances  like  hair-pins,  soup-bones,  or  clothes- 
pins into  the  mouth  with  food,  as  it  naturally  requires  some 
little  sang  froid  and  tact  to  remove  them.  One  accustomed 
to  the  mysteries  of  parlor-magic  may  slide  the  articles  into 
his  sleeve  while  coughing,  and  thence  into  the  coat  pocket 
of  his  host,  thus  easily  getting  himself  out  of  an  unpleasant 
situation,  and  at  the  same  time  producing  roars  of  laughter 
at  the  expense  of  the  host. 

If,  however,  you  are  not  familiar  with  sleight  of  hand, 
you  may  take  in  a  full  breath,  and  expel  the  object  across 
the  room  under  the  whatnot,  where  it  will  not  be  discovered 
until  you  have  gone  away. 

I  will  add  a  few  general  rules  for  table  etiquette,  which  I 
have  learned  by  actual  experience  to  be  of  untold  benefit  to 
the  active  society  man. 

First — It  is  proper  to  take  the  last  of  anything  on  the 
plate  if  it  comes  to  you,  instead  of  declining  it.  It  is  sup- 
posed that  there  is  more  in  the  house,  or  if  not,  the  hos.t  may 
go  down  town  and  get  some.  Do  not,  therefore,  decline 
anything  because  it  is  the  last  on  the  dish,  unless  it  looks  as 
though  it  wouldn't  suit  you. 

Second — If  by  mistake  you  get  your  spoon  in  the  gravy 
so  far  that  the  handle  is  more  or  less  sticky,  do  not  get  ill- 
tempered  or  show  your  displeasure,  but  draw  it  through 
your  mouth  two  or  three  times,  laughing  a  merry  laugh  all 
the  time.  Do  not  attempt  to  polish  it  off  with  your  hand- 
kerchief.    It  might  spoil  your  handkerchief. 

Third — In  drinking  wine  at  table  do  not  hang  your  eyes 
put  on  your  cheek,  or  drink  too  fast  and  get  it  up  your  nose. 


262  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

Do  not  drain  your  glass  perfectly  dry  and  then  try  to  draw 
in  what  atmosphere  there  is  in  the  room.  This  is  not  only 
vulgar,  but  it  tends  to  cast  large  chunks  of  three-cornered 
gloom  over  the  guests. 

When  you  have  drained  your  glass,  do  not  bang  it  vio- 
lently on  the  table  and  ask  your  host  "  how  much  he  is  out." 
This  gives  too  much  of  the  air  of  wild,  unfettered  freedom, 
and  the  unrestrained  hilarity  of  the  free-lunch. 

Fourth — When  you  get  anything  in  your  mouth  that  is 
too  hot,  do  not  get  mad  and  swear,  because  the  other  guests 
will  only  laugh  at  you,  but  remove  the  morsel  calmly  and 
tell  the  waiter  to  put  it  on  ice  a  little  while  for  you. 

Fifth — When  your  coffee  is  out  and  you  desire  more,  do 
not  pound  on  your  cup  with  your  spoon,  but  be  gentle  and 
ladylike  in  your  demeanor,  telling  some  fresh  little  anecdote 
to  please  the  guests,  looking  yearningly  toward  the  coffee 
urn  all  the  while. 

Sixth — If  you  have  to  leave  the  table  as  soon  as  you  are 
through,  do  not  jump  up  suddenly  and  upset  the  table,  but 
make  an  original  and  spicy  remark  about  "having  to  eat 
and  run  like  a  beggar,"  and  this  will  create  such  a  hearty 
laugh  over  your  sally  of  wit  that  you  can  slip  out,  select  the 
best  hat  in  the  hall,  and  be  half  way  home  before  the  com- 
pany can  restrain  its  mirth. 

There  are  some  more  good  rules  that  I  have  on  hand,  not 
only  relative  to  the  table,  but  the  ball-room,  the  parlor,  the 
croquet  lawn,  the  train,  the  church,  and,  in  fact,  almost 
everywhere  that  the  society  man  might  be  placed.  These 
I  will  give  the  public  from  time  to  time,  as  the  growing  de- 
mand seems  to  dictate,  • 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  263 

THE   SECRET   OF   GARFIELD'S  ELECT  ON. 

Headquarters  in  the  Field,        ) 
September  19,  1SS0.    f 

As  I  start  for  Chicago  to-morrow  I  take  this  opportunity 
to  write. 

The  trip  so  far  has  been  one  continuous  ovation.  I  have 
been  swinging  round  the  circle,  leaving  the  flag  and  the 
constitution  with  the  people,  and  living  out  of  a  valise — and 
my  friends — till  I  begin  to  yearn  for  home.  It  has  been  my 
fortune  to  run  into  several  Garfield  meetings  during  the 
time  that  I  have  been  here,  and  to  make  short  but  telling 
speeches  for  the  Republican  candidates.  As  one  of  the  local 
papers  very  truthfully  said : 

"  Mr.  Xve  certainly  reaches  the  very  core  of  the  subject 
matter  in  his  admirable  campaign  speeches  this  fall.  His 
commanding  appearance  and  wild,  peculiar  beauty  win  the 
attention  of  the  audience  even  before  he  says  one  word,  and 
when  speaking  his  air  of  candor  and  searching  truth  secures 
the  earnest  and  prayerful  consideration  of  those  before  him. 
He  seems  to  supply  a  want  long  felt,  and  in  case  of  Gar- 
field's election  we  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  it  will 
be  due  largely  to  the  scorching  truths  and  heaven-born 
o-cnius  of  this  remarkable  man." 

It  is  a  novel  sensation  indeed,  after  five  years  of  silent 
suffering  in  Wyoming,  disfranchised  and  helpless,  to  mingle 
in  the  campaign  and  give  free  utterance  to  the  blood-curdling 
truths  that  have  for  years  been  bottled  up  in  these  brain. 
Perhaps  the  people  here  do  not  deserve  it,  but  they  need 
purification  through  suffering. 

I  have  one  Garfield  speech  that  I  have  used  here  a 
number  of  times  with  telling  effect,  and  which  I  shall  turn 
over  to  the  State  Central  Committee  when  I  go  West. 


264  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

By  taking  out  the  front  breadths,  turning  the  overskirt 
and  revising  the  peroration,  it  will  wear  till  November 
easily.  I  would  insert  it  in  this  letter  only  for  the  fact  that 
it  seems  rather  tame  in  print,  owing  to  the  absence  of  ges- 
tures. 

In  my  public  speaking  most  everyone  who  is  near  me 
seems  to  be  forcibly  struck  with  my  gestures.  Hear  what 
the  press  says.  The  Minneapolis  Tribune,  speaking  of  my 
wonderful  effort,  concludes  as  follows : 

"  Perhaps  the  most  potent  weapon  of  this  campaign  is  the 
soothing,  poetical  style  of  gesture  owned  and  operated  by 
William  Nye.  In  his  speech  last  evening  before  the  Young 
Men's  Republican  club,  those  who  were  on  the  fence  were 
harrassed  with  soul-destroying  doubts  as  to  which  was  most 
to  be  feared,  the  success  of  an  unprincipled  Democracy  or 
the  frolicsome  gestures  of  the  speaker. 

The  general  feeling  at  the  close  of  the  speech  seemed  to 
be  that  Minneapolis  had  never  listened  to  a  speech  so  rich 
with  wild,  impetuous  and  death-dealing  gesticulations  be- 
fore." 

The  Stillwater  Lumberman  says : 

"  The  speech  last  evening  was  noticeable  for  its  grandeur 
of  conception  and  the  picturesque  grace  of  its  calisthentics. 
The  speaker  seemed  to  be  largely  made  up  of  massive  brow 
and  limbs.     When  he  rose  and  with  easy  grace  unrolled  hi, 
speech  and  untangled  his  legs,  a  general  smile  seemed  t 
ripple  the  faces  of  the  immense  audience,  but  when  he  tool 
a  drink  of  water  and  began  to  make  his  new  style  of  ges« 
ture,  the  mirthful  manifestations  gave  place  to  a  horrible 
apprehension  of  danger.     Toward  the  close  of  the  speech 
when  Mr.  Nye  got  warmed  up  to  his  work,  and  seemed  to 
be  lost  in  a  wilderness  of  dissolving  limbs,  the  police  inter- 
fered and  prevented  the  sacrifice  of  human  life," 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  265 

The  Clear  Lake  News  of  the  17th  says: 

"  One  of  the  distinguishing  features  of  the  meeting  held 
here  on  Wednesday  evening,  under  the  management  of  the 
Temple  of  Honor,  was  a  short  speech  on  temperance  by 
Bill  Nye,  of  Wyoming. 

"  His  work  in  the  line  of  temperance  seems  to  have  been 
mainly  that  of  furnishing  the  horrible  examples,  so  that 
young  men  might  avoid  the  demon  of  rum. 

"After  the  speaker  got  well  under  way  and  began  to 
emphasize  his  language  with  some  gestures  that  he  has  im- 
ported at  great  expense  for  his  own  use,  the  congregation 
seemed  at  a  loss  whether  it  would  be  best  as  a  matter  of 
safety  to  flee  from  intemperance  or  the  death-dealing  ges- 
tures of  the  speaker. 

"  Mr.  Nye  to-day  gave  bonds  in  the  sum  of  $500  to  keep 
the  peace,  shipped  his  gestures  to  Chicago,  and  will  leave 
on  the  first  south-bound  train." 


PERILS  OF  THE  BUTTERNUT  PICKER. 

Speaking  of  trains  reminds  me  that  I  have  been  scoot- 
ing around  the  country  lately  on  mixed  and  accommodation 
trains. 

They  are  a  good  style  of  conveyance  in  some  respects. 
For  instance,  if  a  man  has  a  car-load  of  wheat  that  he 
wants  to  run  into  St.  Paul  with  and  sell,  he  can  have  it  at- 
tached to  the  mixed  train,  and  then  he  can  get  into  the  coach 
and  go  along  with  it,  and  attend  to  it  personally.  But 
where  a  man's  time  is  worth  $9  a  moment,  as  mine  is,  it  is 
annoying. 

At  first  I  couldn't  get  accustomed  to  it.     I  couldn't  over- 


266  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

come  my  inertia  when  the  car  started  or  stopped,  and  it 
kept  me  worn  out  all  the  time  apologizing  to  a  corpulent 
old  lady  in  the  third  seat  from  me.  Had  I  been  given  a  lit- 
tle time  to  select  a  lady  whose  lap  I  would  prefer  to  sit 
down  in,  there  were  a  dozen  perhaps  in  the  car  more  desir- 
able than  this  old  lady,  but  in  the  hurry  and  agitation  I 
always  seemed  to  select  her. 

Finally  the  conductor  said  that  kind  of  business  had  gone 
far  enough,  and  he  tied  me  into  my  seat  with  a  shawl-strap. 

The  train  was  very  long,  and  when  it  got  under  full  head- 
way it  was  almost  impossible  to  stop  it  at  the  various  sta- 
tions. We  either  stopped  out  in  the  country  prematurely 
or  passed  the  station  at  the  rate  of  nine  miles  a  minute,  and 
then  repented  and  came  back.  I  was  Struck  with  the  simi- 
larity of  the  first  five  or  six  towns  on  the  line  and  spoke  of 
it  to  a  friend  who  accompanied  me. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  Clarksville,  Mapleton,  Eldorado 
Junction,  Pine  Grove  and  Brookville  had  been  planned  by 
the  same  architect,  but  my  friend  only  laughed  and  showed 
me  that  we  had  been  switched  and  side-tracked  for  two  or 
three  hours  at  the  first-named  place. 

We  stopped  in  the  woods  once  and  I  went  out  after  but- 
ternuts. 

It  was  a  lovely  autumn  day,  and  after  the  thick  nutritious 
air  of  the  car,  it  was  paradise  to  get  out  into  the  forest, 
where  the  fresh,  sweet  odor  of  the  falling  leaves  was  every- 
where, and  the  hush  of  nature's  annual  funeral  checked  the 
thoughtless  word  and  noisy  laughter  of  the  invader. 

I  wandered  on,  thinking  of  the  brevity  and  comparative 
unimportance  of  our  human  life.  How  short  the  race  we 
run,  and  how  unsatisfactory  our  achievements  at  last.  How 
like  the  leaves  of  the  forest  we  spring  forth  in  the  eurly 


BILL    XYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  267 

summer  of  our  existence,  nod  pleasantly  to  our  fellows  a 
few  brief  mornings,  <mk\  then  die. 

Thoughtlessly  and  aimlessly  1  had  wandered  on  until  I 
came  to  a  large  butternut,  which  I  climbed  with  the  old  and 
almost  forgotten  enthusiasm  of  boyhood.  At  the  top  I  tried 
some  of  my  old  and  difficult  tricks,  and  just  as  the  train 
moved  silently  away  I  was  going  through  the  difficult  and 
dangerous  act  of  hanging  to  the  upper  limb  of  a  butternut 
tree  by  the  seat  of  the  pants,  and  waiting  patiently  for  the 
bough  or  the  cassimere  to  yield  and  let  the  artist  down  into 
the  arena  by  force  of  gravitation. 

Dear  reader,  did  you  ever  go  through  this  thrilling  experi- 
ence? Did  you  ever  feel  the  utter  insecurity  and  maddening 
uncertainty  which  it  yields?  If  not,  then  these  lines  are  not 
to  you? 

Gently  the  tree  swayed  to  and  fro  with  the  motion  of  the 
autumn  breeze.  Sadly  the  pines  were  sighing  like  lost 
souls,  and  the  dead  leaves  fell  softly  to  the  ground,  like  the 
footfalls  of  departed  spirits.  I  began  to  wish  that  I  could 
fall  softly  to  the  ground  like  the  footfalls  of  departed  spirits, 
too. 

I  began  to  get  bored  and  unhappy  after  awhile.  My  feet 
and  hands  hung  in  a  cluster,  and  the  position  seemed  strained 
and  unnatural.  I  began  to  yearn  for  societv,  and  the  com- 
forts  of  a  home.  I  mentally  calculated  the  distance  I  would 
have  to  fall,  and  wondered  which  of  my  bones  I  would 
shatter  the  most,  and  what  the  doctor's  bill  would  be. 

All    at   once    I    heard    what    seemed    like    a    sound    of 

smothered  laughter.     It  was  no  doubt  nothing-  but  a  sound 

which  my  fevered  imagination  had  conjured  up,  aided  by 
the  torrent  of  blood  that  rushed  to  my  head  and  thumped 

so  loudly  in  my  ears,  but  it  maddened  me,  and  I  summoned 


268  BILL   NYE    AND   BOOMERANG. 

all  my  strength  in  the  mighty  struggle  to  free  myself. 
Finally,  there  was  a  short,  sharp  crash,  and  I  felt  myself 
rapidly  descending  through  space.  I  fancied  that  I  was  an 
acrobat,  and  had  fallen  from  the  center  pole  that  holds  up 
the  sky.  I  thought  I  lay  in  the  dust  and  sawdust  of  the 
ring  in  a  shapeless  mass;  and  over  all,  and  above  all,  there 
was  the  maddening  sensation  that  my  wardrobe  was  not 
complete.  In  my  tortured  imagination  I  could  hear 
demoniac  laughter,  and  occasional  words  of  derision.  They 
became  more  pronounced  and  distinct  at  last,  and  I  fancied 
I  heard  one  of  these  grinning  imps  saying: 

"  How  peaceful  he  looks,  and  how  young  and  fair.  See 
how  carelessly  he  has  inserted  his  nose  in  the  moist  earth. 
He  must  have  suffered  a  good  deal  through  life,  and  yet  his 
face  is  calm  and  happy  in  its  expression.  His  general 
appearance  is  that  of  perfect  rest,  and  the  glad  fruition  of 
every  hope. 

"  Let  us  go  up  into  the  tree  and  get  the  rest  of  his 
remains,  and  send  them  all  home  together." 

This  last  speaker  reminded  me  of  the  conductor,  and  the 
similarity  struck  me  even  in  my  trance.  Slowly  I  opened 
my  eyes.  It  was  he.  I  almost  wished  that  the  fall  had 
killed  me.  I  did  not  fall  from  the  tree  to  be  humorous,  but 
if  I  had  I  should  have  considered  it  the  crowning  triumph  of 
an  eventful  career. 

Most  everyone  from  the  train  was  there,  and  several  from 
the  nearest  towns  along  the  line.  I  bowed  my  thanks  in 
silence,  and  backed  over  to  the  car.  I  got  aboard  and  sat 
down.  I  found  that  I  attracted  less  attention  when  I  was 
sitting  down,  and  I  never  cared  so  little  for  public  notice  in 
my  life  as  I  did  that  day. 

It  seems  that  the  train  had  gone  away  some  distance,  but 


bill  Nye  and  boomerang.  269 

when  i.  got  by  itself  it  remembered  that  I  was  not  on 
board,  and  the  peanut  boy  remembered  seeing  me  get  off  at 
this  point.  So,  as  the  train  was  already  two  weeks  and  four 
days  behind,  the  conductor  decided  to  go  back.  He  says 
now  that  he  does  not  regret  it.  He  says  that  the  life  of  a 
conductor  at  the  best  has  but  few  bright  spots  in  it,  and  the 
oases  along  the  desert  which  he  treads  are  widely  separated, 
but  he  told  me  with  tears  in  his  eyes  that  Providence  had 
made  me  the  humble  instrument  for  great  good,  and  he  felt 
grateful  to  me. 

When  he  breaks  out  into  a  glad  ripple  of  childish  laugh- 
ter now  without  any  apparent  cause,  he  takes  a  piece  of 
checked  cassimere  out  of  his  pocket  and  explains  how  he 
got  it,  and  tells  the  whole  story  to  his  friends,  so  there  are  a 
great  many  people  along  that  line  of  travel  who  know  me 
by  reputation  although  they  have  never  seen  me. 


A  WORD  OR  TWO  ABOUT  THE  SWALLOW. 

Lately  I  have  made  some  valuable  discoveries  relative 
to  ornithology,  and  I  will  give  some  of  them  to  the  public, 
for  I  love  to  shed  information  right  and  left,  like  a  Normal 
school. 

When  the  soft  south  wind  began  to  kiss  our  cheeks,  and 
the  horse-radish  and  North  Park  prospector  began  to  start, 
the  swift-winged  swallows  drew  near  to  my  picturesque 
home  on  East  Fifth  street,  and  I  hoped  with  a  great,  anxious, 
throbbing  hope,  that  they  would  build  beneath  the  Gothic 
eaves  of  my  $200  ranche. 

I  would  take  my  guitar  at  the  sunset  hour,  and  sit  at  my 
door  in  a  camp-chair,  with  the  fading  glory  of  the  dying  day 


270  BILL   NYK    AND    BOOMERANG. 

bathing  me  in  a  flood  of  golden  light,  and  touching  up  my 
chubby  form,  and  I  would  warble,  "  When  Sparrows 
Build,"  an  old  solo  in  J,  which  seems  to  fit  my  voice,  and 
the  swallows  would  flit  around  me  on  tireless  wing,  and 
squeak,  and  sling  mud  over  me  till  the  cows  came  home. 

This  thing  had  gone  on  for  several  days,  and  the  little 
mud  houses  under  the  eaves  were  pretty  near  ready?  and  in 
the  meantime  the  spring  bed  bug  had  come  with  his  frag- 
rant breath,  and  turpentine,  and  quicksilver,  and  linr,  and 
aquafortis,  and  giant-powder,  and  a  feather,  has  made  my 
home  a  howling  wilderness,  that  smelled  like  a  city  drug 
store. 

But  it  didn't  kill  the  bugs.  It  pleased  them.  They  called 
a  meeting  and  tendered  me  a  vote  of  thanks  for  the  kind 
attentions  with  which  they  had  been  received.  They  ate  all 
these  diabolical  drugs,  not  only  on  regular  days,  but  right 
along  through  Lent. 

I  got  mad  and  resolved  to  insure  the  house  and  burn  it 
down.  One  evening  I  felt  sad  and  worn,  and  was  trying  to 
solace  myself  by  trilling  a  few  snatches  from  Mendelssohn's 
"  Wail,"  written  in  the  key  of  G  for  a  baritone  voice.  A 
neighbor  came  along  and  stopped  to  lean  over  the  gate,  and 
drink  in  the  flood  of  melody  which  I  was  spilling  out  on  the 
evening  air.  When  I  got  through  and  stopped  to  tune  my 
guitar  anew,  and  scratch  a  warm  place  on  my  arm,  he  asked 
if  I  were  not  afraid  that  those  swallows  would  bring  bed 
bugs  to  the  house. 

I  had  heard  that  before,  but  I  thought  it  was  a  campaign 
lie.  I  acted  on  the  suggestion,  however,  and  taking  a  long 
pole  from  behind  the  door,  where  I  keep  it  for  pictorial  Bible 
men,  I  knocked  d  )\vn  a  \iobe  cottage,  and  proceeded  to 
examine  it. 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  2*71 

■ 

It  was  level  full  of  imported  Merino  and  Cotswold  and 
Southdown  and  Early  Rose  and  Duchess  of  Oldenburg  and 
twenty-ounce  Pippins  and  Seek-no-further  b^d  bugs.  There 
were  bed  bugs  in  modest  gray  ulsters  and  bed  bugs  in  dregs 
of  wine  and  old  gold,  bed  bugs  in  ashes  of  roses  and  beg 
bugs  in  elephants'  breath,  bed  bugs  with  their  night  clothes 
on  and  in  morning  wrappers,  bed  bugs  that  were  just  going 
on  the  night  shift,  and  bed  bugs  that  had  been  at  work  all 
day  and  were  just  going  to  bed. 

I  killed  all  I  could  and  then  drove  the  rest  into  a  pan  of 
coal  oil.  When  one  undertook  to  get  out  of  the  pan  I  shot 
him.  This  conflict  lasted  several  days.  I  neglected  my 
other  business  and  omitted  morning  prayers  until  there  was 
a  great  calm  and  the  swift- winged  swallows  homeward 
flew.  When  these  feathered  songsters  come  around  my 
humble  cot  another  spring  they  will  meet  with  a  cold,  un- 
welcome reception.  I  shall  not  even  ask  them  to  take  off 
their  things. 

I  have  formed  the  idea  somehow  from  watching  the  ec- 
centric nervous  flight  of  the  swallow,  that  when  he  makes 
one  of  those  swift  flank  movements  with  the  speed  of  chain 
lightning  he  must  be  acting  from  the  impulse  of  a  large, 
earnest,  triangular  bed  bug  of  the  boarding  house  variety. 
I  may  be  wrong,  but  I  have  given  this  matter  a  good  deal 
of  attention,  and  whether  this  theory  be  correct  or  not  I  do 
not  care.     It  is  good  enough  for  me. 


LAUGHING  SAM. 

During  the  past  week  I  have  experienced  the  pleasure 
of  an  acquaintance  with  Laughing  Sam,  a  character  well 
known  throughout  the  West.     Samuel  Thompson  was  in- 


tp 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 


LAUGHING  SAM. 


troduced  to  me  on  Tuesday  last,  and,  although  he  has  a 
look  of  subdued  pain  and  half  concealed  anguish,  I  soon 
found  that  he  was  capable  of  exhibiting  the  most  wild  and 
ungovernable  mirth. 

Laughing  Sam  is  employed 
by  Surveyor  Downey,  and  the 
latter  has  often  told  me  how  he 
wished  that  I  could  employ  Sam 
by  the  month  to  laugh  at  what 
I  might  write,  so  that  I  could 
(  ^C^  1;)e  encouraged. 

"*Sy  traduction  were  over,  we  began 
to  tell  anecdotes  in  order  to  get 
Sam  into  a  cheerful  frame  of 
mind.  When  one  would  get 
tired  and  lay  off  for  a  rest,  some  other  one  would  come  for- 
ward to  the  bat  and  tell  some  more  humorous  tales.  But 
Sam  had  evidently  heard  all  these  anecdotes,  and  looked 
disgusted  and  fatigued  and  bored. 

Downey  whispered  to  me  that  it  wouldn't  do;  we  must 
have  something  entirely  different,  and  that  I  had  better  fix 
up  one  of  those  custom-made  lies  of  mine,  such  as  we  used 
to  tell  at  the  boarding  house  in  '75. 

I  did  so  with  some  hesitation,  but  Sam  kindly  gave  me 
his  attention  and  cheered  me  with  an  occasional  pleased 
grunt.  Then  1  threw  my  whole  soul  into  it.  I  put  in  all 
the  pathos  of  which  I  am  capable  at  certain  parts,  and  then 
where  it  was  grand  and  terrific  I  got  up  and  sawed  the  air, 
and  where  it  was  ludicrous  I  enlarged  upon  it  till  Sam's  eye 
began  to  glisten. 

By-and-by  the  fountains  of  the  great  deep  opened,  and 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  2y3 

Sam  lay  on  the  floor  a  quivering  mass.  Sometimes  we 
thought  he  was  dead,  but  then  one  leg  would  fly  through 
the  air  and  he  would  give  a  wild  whoop  of  pain.  Then,  in 
a  lucid  moment,  he  would  try  to  get  up,  but  he  would  fall 
back  again,  and  his  lips  would  spasmodically  relax  and  con- 
tract, and  the  air  would  be  filled  with  a  wild  mixture  of 
yells  and  whoops  and  gurgles  and  contortions. 

It  was  not  what  was  said  that  made  him  laugh,  but  it  was 
because  his  time  had  come  to  indulge  in  a  little  mirth.  I 
tried  the  same  story  afterward  on  an  ordinary  laughter,  and 
when  I  got  through  he  was  bathed  in  tears.  So  it  wasn't 
the.  story. 

When  Laughing  Sam  looks  at  his  watch  and  sees  that  a 
laro-e  amount  of  mirthfulness  is  due  he  calmly  puts  away 
anything  that  may  be  near  him  of  a  fragile  nature  and  pro- 
ceeds to  laugh  in  a  way  that  shakes  the  stars  loose  in  the 
firmament  and  disarranges  the  entire  planetary  world. 

This  fall  he  has  an  engagement  to  laugh  for  Eli  Perkins 
durino-  the  lecture  season.  Eli  is  to  give  him  half  the  pro- 
ceeds  of  the  lectures  and  Sam  has  got  to  laugh  whether  he 
feels  like  it  or  not. 


THE  CALAMITY  JANE  CONSOLIDATED. 

I  have  one  claim— at  least  myself  and  two  or  three 
other  capitalists  have— which  has  shown  itself  to  be  very 
rich,  but  it  is  not  for  sale.  We  are  sinking  on  it  now.  We 
set  a  force  of  men  at  work  on  it  two  weeks  ago  consisting 
of  genial  cuss  from  Bitter  Creek.  He  dug  a  few  hours 
in  a  vertical  direction,  when  overworked  nature  yielded  and 
he  went  to  sleep. 


274  6tLL  NVfi  and  boomerang. 

I  discharged  the  entire  gang.  Shortly  after  that  at  a 
great  expense  we  secured  a  day  shift  by  the  name  of 
O'Toole.     He  is  Greek  I  think. 

He  is  still  at  work,  though  he  found  it  very  difficult  to 
use  the  long  handle  shovel  at  first.  He  insisted  on  pouring 
the  dirt  down  the  back  of  his  neck  and  then  climbing  out 
of  the  shaft  with  it  and  undressing  himself  with  a  gentle 
repose  of  manner  which  indicated  that  he  had  perfect  com- 
mand of  himself  and  knew  that  his  time  was  going  right 
on  all  the  same. 

Still  there  are  drawbacks  about  this  style  of  mining. 
The  work  does  not  progress  as  rapidly  as  the  present  rush 
and  hurry  and  turmoil  of  the  American  people  seem  to  de- 
mand. 

Two  weeks  ago  the  perilous  undertaking  of  sinking  this 
shaft  to  a  depth  of  ten  feet  in  a  perpendicular  direction  was 
begun,  and  although  we  have  shipped  several  mule  loads  of 
the  choicest  grub,  consisting  of  bacon  in  large  packages 
done  up  in  corn-colored  overshirts  and  XXX  Nebraska 
flour,  yet  the  top  of  Mr.  O'TooPs  head  is  visible  to  the 
naked  eye  from  a  considerable  distance  as  he  stands  in  the 
shaft. 

Occasionally  the  Count  De  O'Toole  fancies  that  he  has 
been  bitten  by  a  tarantula,  and  the  stockholders  of  the  Ca- 
lamity Jane  Consolidated  have  to  ship  a  large  lunch  basket 
with  a  willow  cover  to  it  and  a  cork  in  the  top  in  order  to 
counteract  the  poison  that  is  rankling  in  his  system. 


THE  NOCTURNAL  COW. 

With  the  opening  up  of  my  spring  movements  ill  the 
agricultural  line  comes  the  cow.    • 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 


275 


THE  NOCTURNAL  COW. 


Laramie  has  about  seven  cows  that  annoy  me  a  good 
deal.  They  work  me  up  so  that  I  lose  my  equanimity.  I 
have  mentioned  this  matter  before,  but  this  spring  the 
trouble  seems  to  have  assumed  some  new  features.  The 
prevailing  cow  for  this  season  seems  to  be  a  seal-brown  cow 
with  a  stub  tail,  which  is  arranged  as  a  night-key.  She 
wears  it  banged. 

The  other  day  I  had 
just  planted  my  cellu- 
loid radishes  and  irri- 
£f.C*c  '■".:';  ::-^\.  '.:>?■? ~r\\ 
turnips  and  sown  my 
hunting- case  summer 
squashes,  and  this  cow 
went  by  trying  to  con- 
vey the  impression  that  she  was  out  for  a  walk. 

That  night  the  blow  fell.  The  queen  of  night  was  high 
in  the  blue  vault  of  heaven  amid  the  twinkling  stars.  All 
nature  was  hushed  to  repose.  The  people  of  Laramie  were 
in  their  beds.  So  were  my  hunting-case  summer  squashes. 
I  heard  a  stealthy  step  near  the  conservatory  where  my  cel- 
luloid radishes  and  pickled  beets  are  growing,  and  I  arose. 
******* 

It  was  a  lovely  sight.  At  the  head  of  the  procession 
there  was  a  seal-brown  cow  with  a  tail  like  the  handle  on  a 
pump,  and  standing  at  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees. 

That  was  the  cow. 

Following  at  a  rapid  gait  was  a  bewitching  picture  of  ala- 
baster limbs  and  Gothic  joints  and  Wamsutta  muslin  night 
robe. 

That  was  me. 

The  queen  of  night  withdrew  behind  a  clowd. 


276  BILL.   NYE   AND    BOOMERANG, 

The  vision  seemed  to  break  her  all  up. 

Bye-and-bye  there  was  a  crash,  and  the  seal-brown  cow 
went  home  carrying  the  garden  gate  with  her  as  a  kind  of 
keepsake.  She  had  a  plenty  of  garden  gates  at  home  in 
her  collection,  but  she  had  none  of  that  particular  pattern. 
So  she  wore  it  home  around  her  neck. 

The  writer  of  these  lines  then  carefully  brushed  the  sand 
off  his  feet  with  a  pillow  sham  and  retired  to  rest. 

When  the  bright  May  morn  was  ushered  in  upon  the 
busy  world  the  radish  and  squash  bed  had  melted  into  chaos 
and  there  only  remained  some  sticks  of  stove  wood  and  the 
tracks  of  a  cow,  interspersed  with  the  dainty  little  footprints 
of  some  Peri  or  other  who  evidently  stepped  about  four 
yards  at  a  lick,  and  could  wear  a  number  nine  shoe  if  neces- 
sary. 

Yesterday  morning  it  was  very  cold,  and  when  I  went 
out  to  feed  my  royal  self-acting  hen,  I  found  this  same  cow 
wedged  into  the  hen  coop.  O,  blessed  opportunity!  O, 
thrice  blessed  and  long-sought  revenge! 

Now  I  had  her  where  she  could  not  back  out,  and  I 
secured  a  large  picket  from  the  fence,  and  took  my  coat  off, 
and  breathed  in  a  full  breath.  I  did  not  want  to  kill  her,  I 
simply  wanted  to  make  her  wish  that  she  had  died  of  mem- 
branous croup  when  she  was  young. 

While  I  was  spitting  on  my  hands  she  seemed  to  catch 
my  idea,  but  she  saw  how  hopeless  was  her  position.  I 
brought  down  the  picket  with  the  condensed  strength  and 
eagerness  and  wrath  of  two  long,  suffering  years.  It  struck 
the  corner  of  the  hen-house.  There  was  a  deafening  crash 
and  then  all  was  still,  save  the  low,  rippling  laugh  of  the 
cow,  as  she  stood  in  the  alley  and  encouraged  me  while  I 
nailed  up  the  hen-house  again, 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  277 

Looking  back  over  my  whole  life,  it  seems  to  me  that  it 
is  strewn  with  nothing  but  the  rugged  ruins  of  my  busted 
anticipations. 


THE  RELENTLESS  GARDEN  HOSE. 

It  is  now  the  proper  time  for  the  cross-eyed  woman  to 
fool  with  the  garden  hose.  I  have  faced  death  in  almost 
every  form  and  I  do  not  know  what  fear  is,  but  when  a 
woman  with  one  eye  gazing  into  the  zodiac  and  the  other 
peering  into  the  middle  of  next  week  and  wearing  one  of 
those  large  floppy  sun  bonnets,  picks  up  the  nozzle  of  the 
garden  hose  and  turns  on  the  full  force  of  the  institution,  I 
fly  wildly  to  the  Mountains  of  Hepsidam. 

Water  won't  hurt  anyone  of  course  if  care  is  used  not  to 
forget  and  drink  any  of  it,  but  it  is  this  horrible  suspense 
and  uncertainty  about  facing  the  nozzle  of  a  garden  hose  in 
the  hands  of  a  cross  eyed  woman  that  unnerves  rne  and 
paralyzes  me. 

Instantaneous  death  is  nothing  to  me.  I  am  as  cool  and 
collected  where  leaden  rain  and  iron  hail  are  thickest,  as  I 
would  be  in  my  own  office  writing  the  obituary  of  the  man 
who  steals  my  jokes.  But  I  hate  to  be  drowned  slowly  in 
my  good  clothes  and  on  dr%y  land  and  have  my  dying  gaze 
rest  on  a  woman  whose  ravishing  beauty  would  drive  a  nar- 
row-gauge mule  into  convulsions  and  make  him  hate  him- 
self to  death. 


2^8  BILL   NYE    AND   BOOMERANG* 

A  WAIL. 

To  -Ike  Editor  vf  the  Bass  Drum: 

I  appeai  to  the  charity  of  more  favored  sister?  of  the  east, 
who  live  in  an  atmosphere  of  music  to  throw  a  crumb  of 
comfort  to  one  who  lives  in  the  wilderness  and  has,  in  the 
past  ten  years,  heard  positively  no  music. 

I  want  a  list  of  contralto  songs  for  the  voice,  compass  two 
octaves  G,  in  bass  clef  to  G,  above  the  line,  treble.  I  should 
also  like  a  list  of  piano  solos,  third  or  fourth  grade,  the 
Trauemerei  order  of  music  preferred.  I  will  make  any 
compensation  desired,  and  forever  bless  my  friends  in  need. 

No  Name. 

It  is  pretty  sad  to  suffer  along  for  ten  years  and  not  hear 
any  music.  It  must  seem  dull  and  quiet,  especially  to  one 
who  has  lived  in  an  atmosphere  of  music.  Ten  years  with 
no  one  at  hand  to  churn  up  the  atmosphere  occasionally 
with  something  extending  "  from  G  in  bass  clef  to  G  above 
the  line  treble  "  is  a  long  while.  But  here  in  the  "  wilder- 
ness" we  have  to  squeeze  along  the  best  way  we  can.  We 
can't  go  and  hear  Ole  Bull  every  two  weeks  here.  Sitting 
Bull  is  about  as  near  as  we  can  approximate  to  the  Bull 
family.     It  is  pretty  tough,  and  there  is  no  denying  it. 

Speaking  about  crumbs  of  comfort,  however,  if  "  No 
Name"  will  drop  around  to  the  Bass  Drum  office,  say 
about  12 130  to-morrow,  we  will  attend  to  the  crumb  business. 
We  do  not,  as  a  general  rule,  warble  much,  but  if  she  will 
come  around  at  that  hour  we  will  trill  two  or  three  little 
olios  for  "  one  who  lives  in  the  wilderness,  and  has  in  the 
past  ten  years  heard  positively  no  music."  If  we  had 
known  that  she  was  starving  along  that  way  without  five 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  279 

cents'  worth  of  music  to  lay  her  jaw  to,  we  would  have 
hunted  her  up  and  given  her  a  blast  or  two.  There's 
nothing  mean  ahout  us.  We  may  be  rough  and  perhaps 
impulsive  at  times,  but  we  will  never  hush  our  merry  lay 
so  long  as  anybody  is  suffering.  Always  come  right  to  us 
when  hungry  for  music. 


THE  GREAT,  HORRID  MAN  RECEIVETH  NEW  YEAR 

CALLS. 

In  my  Boudoir,  Dec.  20,  1879. 

New  Year's  Day  will  be  Leap  Year,  and  the  ladies 
want  to  make  calls. 

The  masculine  man  will,  therefore,  have  to  receive. 
Some  of  us  will  club  together  at  private  houses  and  receive, 
while  others  will  "hire  a  hall"  and  sling  a  great  deal  of 
agony,  no  doubt.  I  shall  be  at  home  to  some  extent.  I 
shall  wear  my  organdy,  looped  up  with  demi-overskirt  of 
the  same,  and  three-ply  lambrequins  of  Swiss,  with  corded 
edges  and  button-holes  of  elephant's  breath  cut  plain.  My 
panier  is  down  at  the  machine  shop  now  and  will  be  done 
in  a  few  days.  I  shall  be  assisted  by  Superintendent  Dick- 
inson and  First  Assistant  Postmaster  General  Spalding  of 
the  Laramie  post-office  department,  and  the  grand  difficulty 
will  no  doubt  occur  at  the  residence  of  the  latter. 

Mr.  Dickinson  will  wear  a  lavender  moire  a?itique  with 
all  wool  underclothes.  The  costume  will  be  draped  on  the 
side  with  bevel  pinions,  and  looped  back  with  English  but- 
ton-holes, and  cut  low  in  the  neck. 

Mr,  Spalding  will  wear  a  cveam-eolored  walking  suit  with 


28o  BILL   NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

train  No.  4.  He  will  also  wear  buttons  with  buttonholes  to 
match.  Sleeves  cut  Princesse,  with  polished  elbows  of 
same.  Boots  plain  with  cranberry  sauce.  Brocaded  silk 
overskirt,  with  lemon  sauce.  Fifty-three  button  kids, 
fastening  to  the  suspenders,  open  back,  with  Italian  dressing. 
I  give  these  notes  to  the  reporter  in  advance,  because 
women  are  so  apt  to  get  these  things  all  mixed  up.  After 
we  have  spent  so  much  time  constructing  an  elaborate  ward- 
robe, we  do  not  wish  the  journals  of  the  Territory  to  come 
out  the  next  day,  and  make  each  one  of  us  appear  like  "  a 
perfect  dud."  Our  table  will  also  look  the  nicest  of  any  in 
town.  We  have  designed  it  ourselves.  We  have  arranged 
the  hose  so  that  we  can  play  it  on  the  dishes  after  we  have 
used  them,  and  save  splashing  around  in  hot  water  between 
meals.  We  intend  to  feed  the  first  three  or  four  delegations 
without  doing  any  work  on  the  dishes.  After  that  we  will 
of  course  have  to  turn  on  the  hose.  Visitors  will  be  made 
to  feel  perfectly  at  home.  Callers  will  be  required  not  to 
spit  on  the  floor.  Parties  making  calls  will  not  be  allowed 
to  throw  peanut  shells  in  the  card -receiver,  or  leave  their 
muddy  articles  on  the  piano.  Callers  will  please  remain 
seated  while  the  frigid  sustenance  is  circulated.  No  stand- 
ing callers  allowed.  Standing  collars  are  going  out  of  style 
anyhow. 


JUST  THE  THING. 

Office  of  The  Twilight  Bumble  Bee. 

We  have  just  received  a  copy  of  the  Nebraska  Staats 
Zeitung- Tribune,  a  hiee  little  eight  page  German  papery 


BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG.  281 

published  at  Grand  Island,  Nebraska.  We  have  not  read  it 
all  through  yet,  but  it  is  a  mighty  good  paper.  We  do  not 
understand  much  German.  Wre  are  a  little  rusty.  "  Zwei 
o-lass  laeer  "  is  about  all  the  German  we  know,  and  that 

fc>  o 

isn't  very  pure. 

But  this  paper  we  like.  There  is  a  tone  about  it  that 
seems  to  indicate  a  lofty  conception  of  true  journalism.  A 
noble  ambition  to  cope  with  vice  and  the  prevailing  errors 
of  the  day,  and  to  conquer  ignorance  and  wrong.  As  we 
said  before,  there  are  a  great  many  things  in  the  paper 
which  we  fail  to  quite  "  catch  on  "  to,  owing  to  our  igno- 
rance of  the  German  language,  but  there  is  a  picture  of  a 
cook  stove  on  the  eighth  page  that  is  first-rate.  It  is  in  the 
English  language.  There  is  also  a  picture  of  a  wind  mill, 
in  fractured  English,  on  the  same  page.  It  is  very  correct 
in  its  sentiment,  and  we  endorse  it. 

In  conclusion  we  will  say  that  from  what  we  have  seen 
of  this  paper,  we  are  prepared  to  say  that  it  meets  a  want 
long  felt.  It  is  pure  in  tone,  noble  in  politics,  fearless  in  its 
attack  upon  the  popular  shortcomings  of  the  day,  and  well 
deserving  of  the  hearty  approval  of  the  public. 


THANKS. 

M.  E.  Post,  M.  C,  of  Cheyenne,  will  please  accept  our 
thanks  for  an  indestructible  pumpkin  pie,  presented  on  the 
9th  inst.  It  is  the  most  durable  pie  that  we  ever  wrestled 
with.  Probably  it  was  not  picked  early  enough  and  got  too 
ripe.  It  is  the  first  genuine  cane-bottomed  pie,  with  patent 
dust   damper   and    niekle-plated    movement   that  we  have 


282  BILL    NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

tasted  since  we  came  west.  He  says  it  was  raised  on  the 
Laramie  plains.  If  this  be  true,  we  have  opened  up  before 
us  another  resource  of  which  we  may  be  justly  proud.  We 
have  valuable  marble  quarries,  but  marble  may  be  cracked 
and  broken.  We  also  have  mountains  of  iron  and  leads  of 
valuable  quartz,  but  all  these  must  yield  to  the  superior 
strength  of  man.  This  style  of  pie,  however,  will  defy  the 
power  of  mortal  ingenuity,  and  withstand  the  effacing  finger 
of  time.  Men  may  come  and  men  may  go  but  this  pie  will 
last  forever.  We  make  bold  to  say  that  when  Cv^ric: 
sounds  the  proclamation  that  time  is  no  more,  this  blasted 
pie  will  stand  up  without  a  blush  and  say :  "  Here,  Gabriel, 
is  where  you  get  your  nice,  fresh  pie,  and  don't  you  forget 
it,  either." 


AN  ANTI-MORMON  TOWN. 

A  Mormon  missionary  turned  himself  loose  in  Rawlins 
the  other  night  and  attempted  to  proselyte  the  good  people 
into  getting  another  invoice  of  wives  to  assist  in  taking  off 
the  chill  of  the  approaching  winter;  but  there  was  a  feeling 
in  the  audience  that  the  man  who  represented  the  church  of 
the  Latter  Day  Saints  was  a  little  off  in  addressing  them, 
so  they  went  to  a  dealer  in  old  and  rare  antiquities  and  pur- 
chased some  eggs  that  had  a  smell  which  is  peculiar  to  eggs 
that  have  yielded  to  the  infirmities  of  age. 

The  Rawlins  people  raised  the  windows  on  the  sides  of 
the  building  and  broke  eleven  and  one-half  dozen  out  of  a 
possible  twelve  dozen  of  these  eggs,  which  had  been  coined 
in  the  year  of  the  great  crash.  It  was  the  year  when  so 
many  hens  were  not  feeling  well* 


Bill  ttYE  An+d  Boomerang.  283 

They  broke  them  against  the  brass  collar  button  of  the 
orator,  and  they  ran  down  in  graceful  little  brooklets  and 
rivulets  and  squiblets  and  driblets  over  his  white  lawn  tie 
and  boiled  shii 

Rawlins  is  not  strictly  a  Mormon  town,  and  the  lecturer 
who  took  some  clothes  through  in  a  valise  the  other  day 
bound  for  Evanston,  where  he  could  get  them  washed,  was 
arrested  by  a  New  York  detective  who  was  sure  he  had  at 
last  caught  the  man  who  had  Stewart's  body. 


A  CHRISTMAS  RIDE  IN  JULY. 

I've  just  returned  from  a  long  ride  to  the  Soda  Lakes. 

The  ride  reminded  me  of  a  tour  I  took  in  July  from  Lara- 
mie over  to  Cheyenne,  two  years  ago.  We  had  experienced 
the  pleasure  of  riding  over  the  mountain,  on  the  Union 
Pacific  train,  and  had  held  our  breath  while  crossing  Dale 
Creek  bridge,  and  viewed  with  wonder  the  broken  billows 
of  granite,  lying  here  and  there  at  the  tip-top  of  the  mighty 
divide.  But  some  one  had  said  that  it  was  nothing  com- 
pared with  the  mirth-provoking  trip  by  carriage  across  the 
mountains,  over  a  fine  wagon  road  to  Cheyenne. 

In  the  morning  I  nearly  melted  riding  up  the  sandy  can 
yon,  and   took   off  my   coat  and  gliding  pleasantly  along- 
alternately   sang   one   or  two   low   throbs   of  melody,  and 
alternately  swore  about  the  extreme  heat. 

When  we  got  nearly  to  the  top,  I  thought  it  didn't  look 
well  for  a  man  to  whom  the  American  people  look  for  so 
much  in  the  future,  to  be  riding  along  the  public  highway 
without  his  coat,  so  I  put  it  on.  At  the  top  of  the  mountain 
I  put  on  a  linen  duster  and  gloves.    Shortly  after  that  I  put 


284  BILL   NVfi    AND   BOOMERANG. 

on  my  overshoes  and  a  sealskin  cap.  Later,  I  put  on  my 
buffalo  overcoat,  and  got  out  and  ran  behind  the  carriage  to 
keep  warm. 

When  I  got  to  Cheyenne,  the  Doctor  looked  me  over 
and  said  that  he  could  save  my  feet  because  they  had  so  much 
vitality,  and  were  in  such  a  good  state  of  preservation ;  but 
my  ears — my  pride  and  glory — the  ears  that  I  had  defended 
through  the  newspapers  for  years,  and  had  stood  up  for 
when  all  about  was  dark — they  had  to  go 

That  is,  part  of  them  had  to  go,  and  there  was  enough 
left  to  hear  with;  but  the  ornamental  scallops  and  box  plait- 
ing, and  frills,  the  wainscoating,  and  royal  Corinthian  entabla- 
tures had  to  go. 


EXAMINING  THE  BRAND  ON  A  FROZEN  STEER. 

A  stock  owner  went  out  the  other  day  over  the  divide 
to  see  how  his  cattle  were  standing  the  rigorous  weather, 
and  found  a  large,  fine  steer  in  his  last  long  sleep.  The 
stockman  had  to  roll  him  over  to  see  the  brand,  and  he  has 
regretted  his  curiosity  ever  since.  He  told  me  that  the 
brand  looked  to  him  like  a  Roman  candle  making  about 
2,000  revolutions  per  moment,  and  with  1S7  more  prismatic 
colors  than  he  thought  were  in  existence.  Sometimes  a 
steer  is  not  dead  but  in  a  cold,  sleepy  stupor  which  precedes 
death,  and  when  stirred  up  a  little  and  irritated  because  he 
cannot  die  without  turning  over  and  showing  his  brand,  he 
musters  his  remaining  strength  and  kicks  the  inquisitive 
stockman  so  high  that  he  can  see  and  recognize  the  features 
of  departed  friends.     That  was  the  way  it  happened  on  this 


fciLL   NYE   AND   BOOMERANG  285 

occasion.  The  stockman  fell  in  the  branches  of  a  pine  tree 
on  Jack  Creek,  not  dead  but  very  thoughtful.  He  said  he 
was  near  enough  to  hear  the  rush  of  wings,  and  was  just 
going  to  register  and  engage  a  room  in  ih-  New  Jerusalem 
when  he  returned  to  consciousness. 


ONION  PEELIN'S. 

The  Chinese  agriculturalist  does  his  hair  up  in  a  Frencli 
twist  because  he  don't  want  to  have  his  cue  cumber  the 
ground. 

Almost  every  day  there  is  a  new  liver  pad  or  lung  pad  or 
kidney  pad,  but  in  its  way  nothing  has  succeeded  in  giving 
instant  relief  like  the  Leadville  foot  pad. 

A  man  can  scratch  his  back  against  a  hat  rack  or  a  what- 
not for  a  yeat  0/  two,  and  attribute  it  to  buckwheat  cakes, 
but  after  he  has  feone  on  this  way  for  about  seven  years,  the 
public  and  his  friends  begin  to  lose  faith  in  him. 

A  handsome  competence  is  in  store  for  the  man  who  will 
invent  a  neat,  durable  *nd  portable  pie  opener  that  will  sue- 
cessfully  reach  the  true  mwardness  of  the  average  box-toed, 
Bessemer  steel,  gooseberry  pie  which  the  hired  girl  casts  in 
her  kitchen  foundry. 

Along  the  dreary  pathway  of  this  cloud-environed  life  oi 
ours  there  is  no  joy  so  pure,  no  triumph  so  complete,  no 
success  so  fraught  with  rapture,  as  that  of  the  female  artiste 
who  hangs  on  the  flying  trapeze  by  her  chilblain  and  kisses 
her  hand  to  the  perspiring  throng. 

It  is   not  the  disheartening  sense  of  failure  alone  which 


286  SILL   NYE    AND    BOOMERANG. 

makes  a  man  swear  in  the  stilly  night,  nor  yet  the  fact  that 
he  has  slapped  his  alabaster  limb  harder  •  than  he  needed  to, 
but  it  is  the  trifling  and  heartless  way  in  which  the  mosquito 
kisses  his  hand  to  the  audience,  and  soars  away  humming 
a  Tyrolean  lay. 

Putting  up  stovepipe  is  easy  enough,  if  you  only  go  at  it 
right.  In  the  morning,  breakfast  on  some  light,  nutritious 
diet,  and  drink  too  cups  of  hot  coffee.  After  which  put  on 
a  suit  of  old  clothes — or  new  ones  if  you  can  get  them  on 
time — put  on  an  old  pair  of  buckskin  gloves,  and  when  every 
thing  is  ripe  for  the  fatal  blow,  go  and  get  a  good  hardware 
man  who  understands  his  business.  If  this  rule  be  strictly 
adhered  to,  the  gorgeous  eighteen-karat-stem-winding  pro- 
fanity of  the  present  day  may  be  very  largely  diminished, 
and  the  world  made  better. 

It  is  strange  that  the  human  heait  is  so  easily  influenced 
by  the  change  of  seasons,  and  although  spring  succeeds 
winter,  and  summer  follows  upon  the  heels  of  spring,  just  as 
it  did  centuries  ago,  yet  the  transition  from  one  to  the  other 
is  ever  new  and  pleasing,  and  the  bosom  is  gladdened  with 
the  cheering  assurance  of  spring,  or  the  promise  of  the  com- 
ing summer  time,  with  its  wealth  of  golden  days,  its  cucum- 
bers and  vinegar,  its  green  corn,  its  string  beans,  its  base- 
ball, its  mammoth  circus,  its  fragrant  flowers,  and  its  soda 
water  flavored  with  syrup  from  a  long-necked,  wicker- 
covered  bottle,  just  as  it  was  in  the  days  of  Pharoah,  and 
Hannibal,  and  Andrew  Jackson. 


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3 


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6 


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Treasures  JSTe\v  and  Old;   or.  Many  Thoughts  For 
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-      WORKS  OF  ADVENTURE. 

Adventures  Among  The  Indians .     By  W.  H.  Kingston. 
Beauchampe.     By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 
Border  Beagles.     By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 
Cast  Up  By  The  Sea.     By  Sir  Samuel  Baker. 
Charlemont .     By  W .  Gilmore  Simms . 
Confession.     By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 
Deep  Down.     By  R.  M.  Ballantyne. 
Deerslayer  (The)    By  Fenimore  Cooper. 
Don  Quixote.     By  Miguel  Cervantes. 
Erling,  The  Bold.     By  R.  M.  Ballantyne. 
Eutaw.     By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 
Fire  Brigade,  The.     By  R.  M.  Ballantyne. 
Forayers  (The).     By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 
Giant  Raft  (The) .     By  Jules  Verne . 
Guy  Rivers.     By  TV.  Gilmore  Simms. 
Hunting  In  The  Great  West.     By  G.  O.  Shields. 
Katharine  Walton .     By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 
Last  of  The  Mohicans  (The).     By  Fenimore  Cooper. 
Mellichampe.     By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 
Mysterious  Island ,  (The . )    By  Jules  Verne . 
Partisan  (The).     By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 
Pathfinder  (The.)    By  Fenimore  Cooper. 

Perilous  Adventures,  By  Land  and  Sea.     By  John  Frost,  LL.D 
Rifle  and  Hound  In  Ceylon.     By  Sir  Samuel  Baker. 
Richard  Hurdis.     By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 
Robinson  Crusoe.     By  Daniel  Defoe. 
Scout  (The).     By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 
Secret  Dispatch  (The).     By  James  Grant. 
Southward  Ho!    By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 
Spy  (The).     By  Fenimore  Cooper. 
Swiss  Family  Robinson.     By  Wyss  &  Montolieu. 
Thrilling  Scenes  Among  The  Indians.     ByT.  M.  Newson. 
Tour  of  The  World  In  Eighty  Days .     By  Jules  Verne . 
Twenty  Thousand  Leagues  Under  The  Sea .     By  Jules  Verne . 
Vasconselos.     By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 
Woodcraft.     By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 
Wigwam  and  Cabin  (The).     By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 
Young  Foresters  (The).     By  W.  H.   Kingston. 
Yemassee.     By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 

11 


DETECTIVE  STORIES. 

File  113.     By  Emile  Gaboriau . 
Gilded  Clique  (The).     By  Emile  Gaboriau. 
In  Peril  Of  His  Life.     By  Emile  Gaboriau. 
Lerouge  Case  (The).     By  Emile  Gaboriau. 
Monsier  Lecoq .     By  Emile  Gaboriau . 
Mystery  of  Orcival.     By  Emile  Gaboriau. 
Other  People's  Money.     By  Emile  Gaboriau. 

ESSAYS  AND  BELLES  LETTRES. 

Alhambra.     By  Washington  Irving. 

Astoria.     By  Washington  Irving. 

Crown  of  Wild  Olive  and  Queen  of  The  Air.     By  John  Ruskin. 

Ethics  of  The  Dust  and  A  Joy  Forever .     By  John  Ruskin . 

Heroes  and  Hero  Worship.     By  Thomas  Carlyle. 

Sartor  Resartus.     By  Thomas  Carlyle. 

Sesame  and  Lilies  and  Unto  This  Last.     By  John  Ruskin. 

Sketch  Book .     By  Washington  Irving . 

ETIQUETTE,  ETC. 

Complete  Letter  Writer.     By  Thomas  W.  Handford. 
Ladies'  Etiquette. 

Ladies'  Family  Physician .     By  Pye  Henry  Chavasse. 
Needles  and  Brushes,  Embroidery  and  Fancy  Work. 
Stoddard's  Readings  and  Recitations.     ByR.  H.  and  Elizabeth 
Stoddard. 

FABLES  AND  FAIRY  TALES. 

^Esop's  Fables,  100  Illustrations. 

Andersen's  Fairy  Tales.     By  Hans  Christian  Andersen. 
Arabian  Nights  (The) 

Grimm's  Popular  Tales.     By  The  Brothers  Grimm. 
Gulliver's  Travels  and  Baron  Munchausen.  By  Dean  Swift  and 
R.  E.  Raspe. 

FICTION. 

Adam  Bede.     By  Geo.  Eliot. 
Admiral's  Ward.     By  Mrs.  Alexander. 
Airy  Fairy  Lilian.     By  "  The  Duchess." 
All  In  A  Garden  Fair.     By  Besant  &  Rice. 
Arundel  Motto  (The).     By  Mary  Cecil  Hay. 
Beauty's  Daughters.     By  "  The  Duchess." 
Belinda.     By  Rhoda  Broughton. 
Beyond  Pardon .     By  Bertha  M .  Clay . 
Broken  Wedding  Ring  (A) .     By  Bertha  M .  Clay . 
Called  Back  and  Dark  Days.     By  Hugh  Conway. 
Cardinal  Sin  (A).     By  Hugh  Conway . 
Children  of  The  Abbey.     By  Maria  Roche. 
Daughter  of  Heth(A).     By  Wm.  Black. 
Doris .     By  * '  The  Duchess . " 
Dora  Thorne.     By  Bertha  M.  Clay. 
Dick's  Sweetheart.     By  "The  Duchess." 
Dunallan.     By  Grace  Kennedy. 
Earl's  Atonement  (The).     By  Bertha  M.  Clay. 

12 


East  Lynne .     By  Mrs .  Henry  Wood . 

Eugene  Aram.     By  Bulwer  Lytton. 

Endymion.     By  Benjamin  Disraeli. 

Faith  and  Unf  aith .     By  ' '  The  Duchess . " 

Felix  Holt .     By  Geo .  Eliot . 

For  Lilias .     By  Rosa  N .  Carey . 

Green  Pastures  and  Picadilly .     By  Win .  Black . 

Great  Expectations.     By  Chas.  Dickens. 

Heart  and  Science.     By  Wilkie  Collins. 

Henry  Esmond .     By  Wm .  M.  Thackeray . 

Her  Desperate  Victory.     By  Mrs.  M.  L.  Rayne. 

Her  Mother's  Sin.     By  Bertha  M.  Clay. 

lone  Stewart .     By  Miss  E .  Linn  Linton . 

Jshmaelite  (An).     By  Miss  M.  E.  Braddon. 

Jane  Eyre.     By  Charlotte  Bronte. 

John  Halifax,  Gentleman.     By  Miss  Mulock . 

Kenelm  Chillingly.     By  Bulwer  Lytton. 

King  Arthur .     By  Miss  Mulock . 

King  Solomon's  Mines .     By  H .  Rider  Haggard . 

Ladies  Lindores.     By  Mrs.  Oliphant. 

Lady  Audley's  Secret.     By  Miss  M.  E.  Braddon. 

Lady  Branksmere .     By  ' '  The  Duchess . " 

Love  Works  Wonders.     By  Bertha  M.  Clay. 

Macleod  of  Dare .     By  Wm .  Black . 

Madcap  Violet.     By  Wm.  Black. 

Maid  of  Athens.     By  Justin  McCarthy. 

Margaret  and  Her  Bridesmaids.     By  Julia  Stretton. 

Mental  Struggle,  (A).     By  "  The  Duchess. " 

Mill  On  The  Floss .     By  Geo .  Eliot . 

Molly  Bawn .     By  "  The  Duchess . " 

Mrs .  Geoffrey .     By  *  <  The  Duchess . " 

New  Magdalen  (The).     By  Wilkie  Collins 

Old  Myddeltons  Money .     By  Mary  Cecil  Hay. 

Olive/Twist.     By  Charles  Dickens. 

Our  Mutual  Friend .     Bv  Charles  Dickens . 

Parisians  (The).     By  Bulwer  Lytton.       ,_,„,,       „     q. 

Paul  and  Virginia,  Rasselas  and  Vicar  of   Wakefield,     ttj  at 
Pierre,  Johnson  &  Goldsmith. 

Phantom  Fortune.    By  Miss  M .  E .  Braddon . 

Phyllis.     By  "The  Duchess." 

Portia-  or,  Bv  Passions  Rocked .     By  "  The  Duchess.  ' 

Princess  of  thule  (A).     By  Wm.  Black 

Repented  at  Leisure.     By  Bertha  M.  Clay. 

Romola.     By  Geo.  Eliot. 

Rossmoyne .     By  "  The  Duchess . 

Shandon  Bells .     By  Wm .  Black . 

She .     By  H .  Rider  Haggard . 

Strange  Story  (A).     By  Bulwer  Lytton 

Strange  Adventures  of  a  Phaeton .     By  Wm .  Black . 

Sunrise.     By  Wm.  Black.       .„./,. 

Sunshine  and  Roses.     By  Bertha  ±L.  Clay. 

Tale  of  Two  Cities  (A) .     By  Charles  Dickens . 

That  Beautiful  Wretch .     By  Wm.  Black . 

Three  Feathers.     By  Wm.  Black 

To  The  Bitter  End .     By  Miss  M .  E .  Braddon 

Tom  Brown's  School  Days .     By  Thomas  Hughes. 

Tom  Brown  At  Oxford .     By  Thomas  Hughes . 

13 


Two  On  A  Tower .     By  Thos .  Hardy. 

Under  Two  Flags .     By  Ouida . 

Vanity  Fair.     By  W m .  Thackeray . 

Wanda.     By  Oulda. 

Wilfred  Cumbermede .     By  Geo .  Macdonald . 

Woman's  Temptation  (A) .     By  Bertha  M.  Clay. 

WooingO't.     By  Mrs.  Alexander. 

Yolande.     By  Wm.  Black. 

Zanoni .     By  Bulwer  Ly tton . 

HISTORICAL  ROMANCES. 

Bride  of  Lammermoor .     By  Sir  Walter  Scott . 
Guy  Maunering.     By  Sir  Walter  Scott. 
Heart  of  Midlothian .     By  Sir  Walter  Scott. 
I vanhoe .     By  Sir  Walter  Scott . 
Kenil worth.     By  Sir  Walter  Scott. 
Last  Davs  of  Pompeii .     By  Bulwer  Ly  tton . 
Redgauntlet.     By  Sir  Walter  Scott. 
Rienzi .     By  Bulwer  Lytton . 
Rob  Roy .     By  Sir  Walter  Scott . 
Scottish  Chiefs.     By  Jane  Porter . 
Thaddeus  of  Warsaw.     By  Jane  Porter. 
Waverley.     By  Sir  Walter  Scott. 
Willy  Reilly.     By  Wm.  Carleton. 

HISTORY  AND  BIOGRAPHY. 

Dickens'  Child's  History  of  England . 

Washington  and  Marion  (Life  of). 

Webster  (Life  of).     By  Samuel  Smucker,  LL.D. 

HUMOROUS  FICTION, 

Charles  O'Malley .    By  Charles  Lever. 
Handy  Andy      By  Samuel  Lover. 
Harry  Lorrequer.     By  Charles  Lever. 
Rory  O'More .     Samuel  Lover . 

RELIGIOUS  AND  DEVOTIONAL. 

From  Year  to  Year.     By  Alice  Carey. 
Imitation  of  Christ .     By  Thos .  a  Kempis 
Is  Life  Worth  Living.     By  W.  H.  Mallock. 
Pilgrim's  Progress  (The).     By  John  Bunyan. 

SEA  TALES. 

Cruise  of  The  Black  Prince  (The) .     By  Commander  Cameron , 
Five  Years  Before  The  Mast.     By  W .  B .  Hazen . 
Jack  In  The  Forecastle .     By  Hawser  Martingale . 
Mark  Seaworth.     ByW.  H.  Kingston. 
Midshipman  (The) .     By  W .  H .  Kingston . 
Peter  The  Whaler .     By  Sir  Samuel  Baker 
Pilot  (The).     By  Fenimore  Cooper. 
Pirate  (The).     By  Sir  Walter  Scott. 
Red  Eric  (The) .     By  R .  M .  Ballantyne . 
Round  The  World .     By  W .  H .  Kingston . 
Salt  Water.     By  Sir  Samuel  Baker. 

14 


Sea  Queen  (A) .  ByW.  Clark  Russell . 
Tom  Cringle's  Log.  By  Michael  Scott. 
Two  Years  Before  The  Mast.     By  R.  H.  Dana,  Jr. 

SHORT  STORIES. 

Dickens'  Christmas  Stories. 

Dickens'  Shorter  Stories. 

Dickens'  Story  Teller. 

Ethan  Brand .     By  Nathaniel  Hawthorne  and  others . 

Fern  Leaves.     By  Fanny  Fern. 

Half  Hours  With  Great  Authors. 

Half  Hours  With  Great  Humorists. 

Half  Hours  With  Great  Novelists. 

Half  Hours  With  Great  Story  Tellers. 

Poe's  Tales.     By  Edgar  Allan  Poe. 

Shadows  and  Sunbeams .     By  Fanny  Fern. 

True  Stories  From  History.     By  Hugh  DeNormand. 

TRAVEL. 

Eight  Years'  Wanderings  In  Ceylon .     By  Sir  Samuel  Baker . 
Hyperion.     By  H.  W.  Longfellow. 
Outre  Mer.     By  H.  W.  Longfellow. 

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An  extraordinary  study  of  human  nature,  by  Nora  Wardell. 

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